


Smile

by LoungingLux33



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Mild Smut, Rough Kissing, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-12-20 21:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 39,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoungingLux33/pseuds/LoungingLux33
Summary: What if Arthur met someone who changed his mind about the people of Gotham, even just a little? A waitress with a passion for broken things - and some of the same ideas as Arthur - gives him a reason to smile. But sometimes when broken things can't be fixed, they transform into something greater than their pieces.





	1. “Laughing”

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate version of what could have happened, set during the events of Joker, with scenes lifted directly from the film. Spoilers, obviously! Chapters are named after songs (most used in the film or tied to the theme/time period of the late 70s/early 80s) and also factor into the story in some cases. I set out to make this my own private thing but it snowballed into this, and I figured if I’m looking for content like this, maybe someone else is. Please be kind, only my second published fic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica learns she has more in common with one of her favorite customers than she previously thought.

2am. Only me and the cook were left. With four more hours left on my shift and no customers to be found, I yawned and made a fresh pot of coffee for myself. No sense in drinking old coffee.

I leaned against the wall and lost myself in dreams as the coffee dripped into the pot and the strains of“My Name is Carnival” by Jackson C. Frank drifted in from the radio on the counter on the other side of the kitchen door.

This city was a nightmare. The walk to and from work had become a nerve-fraying dash to avoid catcalls and muggings. Work was no better, with a boss like mine. Tony would harass me every time we worked together - which wasn’t often, thank god - but I had no other skills. I’d applied for a job at the bank but got rejected. The only solace I had anymore was in my dancing.

As the pot slowly filled, I gave myself a short break by stretching and extending my arms over my head, going up on my toes. Balancing on one leg, I bent slowly at the waist, keeping my chin up and pointing my opposite leg straight up behind me. The music moved through my heart and I shifted to a new position, moving with a desire that came from deep within me. The dance wasn’t so much ballet as it was movement with feeling. But it was all I had.

I had a show coming up in a few weeks and looked forward to it - my first one - but knew in the grand scheme of things that it would never lead to anything. This city was filled with ten thousand girls, all prettier and more talented than me, each with shows of their own and audiences filled with talent scouts that would choose them over me in a heartbeat.

My dancing stopped. The coffee was nearly full. Might as well get back to work.

Fresh mug of fuel in hand, I emerged from the kitchen to an empty diner with a sigh. Jimmy Durante warbled from the tiny radio in the corner - “I’ll See You In My Dreams” - and it made me smile. I was working on a dance to a Durante song for my show. I turned it up just a bit and hummed to myself, lost in the melody for a moment, swaying softly. 

When I turned around, I was jolted back to reality when I found a man sitting a few feet away at the counter, hunched over and scribbling in a notebook.

“Oh, so sorry... I was just grabbing a coffee, what can I get you?” I hustled over like a good waitress.

My voice caused him to start and look up - and that’s when I recognized him.

Piercing blue eyes and a scar on his upper lip, he lived in my building. He was a regular at the diner, but I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. He was a nice guy. We never really talked, he just gave me a shy smile and a few soft thank you’s from under a mop of unruly brown hair. It was better than I got from other customers, so I liked him. it didn’t hurt that he was so handsome that I found myself thinking about him when he wasn’t there.

I also felt for him; he had a condition that caused him to laugh at inappropriate times - it was something he couldn’t control, like a tic. One night a few months earlier, I had stepped in to defend him when some prostitute tried to knock him out over it. It broke my heart, but it didn’t happen often. He usually just hunched over his notebook, scribbling and drinking cup after cup of black coffee.

“You’re back,” I said with a smile as I walked over, sipping my coffee. He looked at me as if I’d caught him in the act, then softened.

“What?” he glanced down and covered his notebook with his arm nonchalantly, gave me a soft, confused smile as he looked back up. “You remembered me?”

I smiled, “Yeah. You’re in here all the time, then one day you disappeared.”

His face warmed at my words; I got the sense that this man wasn’t used to kindness. I knew the feeling. “Yeah, I... went away for a bit,” he said, almost sheepishly.

I sipped my coffee and leaned back against the dessert fridge behind me with a conspiratorial smile. “Got out of Gotham, eh? Good for you. Where’d you go, somewhere nice?”

He watched my every move, almost entranced. When he opened his mouth to reply, it was like he’d already given up on his own answer. He shook his head. “Nah...”

I shrugged, “Ah well. Welcome back.” He smiled, his eyes following me as I stood again. “Can I get you anything?”

He looked down and back up, then around me, as if he were a space explorer, just landed in the diner. “Coffee?” He asked.

I nodded and turned, saying over my shoulder as I pulled a mug and poured, “You’re in luck, I just made a fresh pot.”

When I placed it in front of him, he accepted it with a shy _thank you_. He sipped and nodded, an awkward combination.

Just him and me in the diner, I had thought about that before - would I ever talk to him? I wanted to. But how to start? I turned to wipe down the counter behind me when I finally worked up the courage and said it.

“You know, I think we live in the same building.”

He didn’t seem surprised, just kept sipping and nodding. When he put his cup down, he couldn’t meet my gaze. “We do.”

I nodded with him and smiled. “What’s your name?”

He froze, eyes shooting to me and away almost as quickly. “Arthur...” he said into his coffee.

“Arthur. Nice to meet you. I’m Jay.”

He looked up at me, that shy smile growing on me. “Jay?”

I explained, “Jessica, really, but there’s another Jessica working here, and she was here first, so guess who had to change her name?”

With that, his whole face darkened; it was like a cloud passed over him and just like that, he wasn’t smiling. The effect was chilling.

“That’s not fair,” he said seriously. He was angry. Not at me - at the other Jessica?

I gave a shrug, “The world isn’t fair.”

He nodded his head, looked back down at his coffee, “You’re right. It’s not.” His knees jangled. His fingers twitched, looking for something to do. He fumbled for his pockets, fished out a cigarette and lit one up with shaking hands.

That was odd. But I already knew he wasn’t a typical customer, and besides; I’d dealt with enough oddness as a waitress that I knew how to handle it. His mood now completely turned on its head, I switched back into sweet server mode and gave him a soft smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

When he looked back up, his expression changed yet again; his smile was saccharine, too kind. “I’m good. Im happy.”

I nodded and picked up my rag, a little unnerved by his new sincerity. “Okay. If you need anything, give a yell.”

He closed his eyes and smiled gratefully with a nod, “I will.”

With my back to him, I felt my shoulders relax; his mood swing had made me worry for him. I focused on the soda fountain and wiped things down for a bit as the next song began: “Laughing” by The Guess Who.

Moving from the fountain to the ketchup bottles on the counter, I worked my way back from the corner, filling each bottle and wiping it down. As I worked, I glanced at the newspaper someone had left on the counter a few seats away from Arthur. The face of a clown was splashed across the front page.

I leaned over as I worked, and read the headline: ‘Killer Clown’, it screamed in big black letters. I scoffed to myself. _Man in clown makeup slays three of Gotham’s fine young asshole_s, I thought. Vigilante justice and mobs of people following in one man’s footsteps. Riots every other day...

“Is it just me...”

His voice shocked me; I jumped back from the counter and found him leaning out of his his seat in my direction, his eyes on the paper. He looked up and me and continued, “Or is it getting... crazier out there?”

He had a point. My heartbeat returned to normal as I went back to wiping down the ketchup bottle nearby. “You may be right,” I conceded.

“Killer clown,” he said quietly to himself, eyes fixed on the illustration splashed across the paper.

“If you ask me, a clown is what we need,” I said, moving to the next bottle a few feet away. “Besides, I have enough to worry about. What’s three dead rich guys to me?”

From the corner of my eye I saw I had piqued his interest.

“That’s right. They wouldn’t give a shit if we died, right?” he asked.

I looked up and found him leaning forward slightly, watching me with bright eyes. His fidgeting had stopped, he just calmly smoked his cigarette. Good to know we agreed on that.

“Exactly,” I said, filling the bottle up to the top and wiping it down, turning to look at him as I finished the last of my work. “Maybe the rich need a wake up call.”

His smile turned almost predatory. Something inside me stirred at the sight of it.I knew I liked him before, but this... pushed it beyond ‘like’. He nodded. “Maybe.”

And then, as if he couldn’t help it, he laughed - that cackling, bubbling sound that seemed to come from some other part of him, deep down in his gut. Another episode, I realized. His face contorted into a grimace as he gasped for breath between laughs. He was humiliated.

Before it got worse, he slid off his stool in a hurry and tucked his notebook into his back pocket, reaching into his coat pocket for some money and tossing it onto the counter, cackling all the while. As he turned and nearly ran for the door, I reached for the money to make his change and thought maybe if I just told him it was okay... “Arthur-!”

But he was gone, the door closing behind him, leaving me with The Guess Who fading out on the radio and a bewildered expression on my face.


	2. “Don’t Lose Your Sense of Humor”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their encounter at the diner, Arthur makes his move.

“Hold the door!”

Instinctively I did as the voice down the hall instructed, and was pleased to find Arthur sprinting for the elevator. The doors opened slowly after I pushed them open.

“Thank you,” he exhaled as he got on, the doors closing again behind him. My stomach did a little somersault at the sight of him, being in close quarters with him. This was turning into something whether I was ready or not.

“Hey,” I greeted him, unsure of how to approach him after his episode at the diner the other night.

He gave a little wave and a smile, and backed into the opposite corner of the elevator, “Hi.”

A few seconds passed before we began moving, and I finally broke the tension, “You know, you forgot your change other night at the diner,” I began, reaching into my purse to give it back to him.

He lifted his gaze from his shoes to find me. “Keep it.”

I gave him a sideways look. “A $9 tip on a dollar cup of coffee?”

He shook his head. The conversation was over. I tried. He was still embarrassed.

Another minute or two passed, then the elevator jammed - like it always did, at least twice a week. He sighed and looked up at the doors. I took my chance.

“You know, it’s okay that you laugh.”

He turned to me with fear and embarrassment in his eyes. He reminded me of a wild animal. “It’s not okay,” he mumbled, looking back down at his shoes. His knee started jangling, that nervous tic like he had in the diner.

I shook my head, “No, I mean, I know it’s like... you don’t want to do it. But I know you can’t help it. And it’s okay. It doesn’t bother me.”

He stopped fidgeting and slowly looked back up at me. His eyes were the color of melted ice: clear and blue and radiant with happiness at my words. A hopeful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You mean it?”

I gave a smile of my own. “Of course.”

His smile lit up; I couldn’t help but admire the way it filled his whole face. The thought crossed my mind just then: no one had ever told him that it was okay. It broke my heart.

Just then, the elevator jumped back to life and we began the slow crawl back up to our floor. Just before the doors opened, he ventured to speak. “You know, I do stand-up comedy.”

This was entirely new. Personal details, a normal conversation? This I could get into. We stepped off the elevator and I stopped in the hallway. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he looked down at his shoes some more, pushed his hair from his eyes, “Down at the club, I... I’m actually performing on Friday, if you wanted to come see.”

Was he asking me on a date? I smiled, a big happy grin, “I’d love to.”

He was encouraged by my enthusiasm. “And maybe we can get coffee or something after?”

Boy, he was on a roll. “Sure. What time?”

”Nine, but I think I’ll go on later so if you don’t want to come until later, it’s fine,” he started to second guess himself. I cut him off.

“Nine is perfect.”

His brow creased, hopeful. “Really?”

I laughed, “Really!”

He smiled - another genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It made my heart swell. “Great. I’ll see you then,” he nodded as he started walking backwards down the hall towards his apartment.

I nodded, “Yep - have a good night!”

He realized he’d forgotten to say that too - “Oh yeah - good night!”

I laughed and waved. He was so endearing.

Once I was in my apartment for the night, I took care of the laundry for an hour or two, then fixed myself a little dinner and poured myself a glass of wine. After I finished, I poured a second glass at around midnight and turned off the tv to instead listen to my Jimmy Durante album. “Don’t Lose Your Sense of Humor” crackled out of the record player softly as I leafed through a magazine and unwound. Unsurprisingly, my thoughts turned to Arthur. In fact, he was all I could think about.

He clearly liked me, and I thought he was very attractive, but something about him just seemed different. Not the laughter, that I could understand, that was a condition he couldn’t help. Was it the mood swing in the diner? That was… odd. But not really, was it? If he liked me that much, was he just that upset that someone else had the same name and made me change my own name? It was a bit much, but not enough to dissuade me from pursuing something with him.

Besides, he really did seem excited for our date… god, a date? The first one I’d been on more than a year. I started to get moony. Would he kiss me? Maybe not - he seemed very shy. Would I kiss him? I smiled to myself. Maybe. I thought about what it would be like to feel his lips on mine, to run my fingers through his hair...

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.


	3. "Helplessly Hoping"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his comedy set, Arthur and Jessica share a first date and turn a corner.

After he suffered a crushing laughter attack just a few jokes into his set at the comedy club, we sat at the tiny bistro table of the nearby cafe, both of us not knowing what to do.

His attempt at a set devolved into an episode that nearly forced him off the stage, but he soldiered on. Unfortunately, his jokes weren’t jokes as much as they were... attempts at them. Each joke was a met with a few uncomfortable laughs and a bit of pity applause. Sure, I laughed - his jokes weren’t very funny, but he was sweet up there, and he was trying. He made eye contact with me a few times and I gave him encouraging smiles and applause, but by the time he returned to our table in the back of the smoky club, we both knew that it was a less than stellar performance.

So now here we were, each of us with a cup of fancy, expensive coffee and plate of dessert between us as Etta James crooned from the radio on the counter: “Stormy Weather”.

“Do you think she knew it would be raining when we listened to this?” he asked, a thumb over his shoulder at the rain pounding against the glass storefront.

Even after all that, he was still making jokes - and this one was funny. What an interesting man, I thought with a laugh. It made his face light up.

“I’ll ask her the next time I see her,” I replied as I sipped at my fancy coffee drink. A delicate pastry sat untouched on a pretty plate between us. “Do you want some of this?”

He shook his head and shifted in his seat, “No that’s okay, that’s for you, I want you to have it.”

He was trying. His ego was bruised, I could tell, but he was trying to be positive. I smiled kindly at him. “You know, you did great back there.”

The light finally returned to his blue eyes with that one. “You think?”

I nodded, and meant it. “Yes! It takes guts to get up there. Not many people can say they’ve done that. You should be proud.” I reached for the pastry and pulled off a bite.

“Why are you so nice to me?” he asked suddenly.

I stopped chewing for a split second - the question wasn’t accusing or angry, it was genuine. He looked at me like he was trying to read fine print.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I turned the question on him with a sly smile.

He shrugged with a shy, crooked smile. I sat back in my chair and looked at him. He really was a broken toy. But I liked him. “I’m nice to you because… I know what it feels like when people aren’t nice. It hurts.”

His smile faded softly. “You don’t deserve that,” he said. His voice was clearer now.

I shrugged, “Well neither do you! So that’s why I’m nice to you.”

His eyes searched me; he didn’t know what to say next, but looked like he wanted to say something. I took another bite of the pastry and wanted to say something, too. But would it be too much? The coffee buzzed through me and I said it before I could stop myself: “Plus I like your smile. If I’m nice to you, I get to see it more.”

His eyes went wide and he smiled at that, catching himself and blushing full-on, shifting in his chair and giggling. It dawned on me that no one had probably ever flirted with him. I was glad to change that.

“You have a beautiful smile too,” he offered.

The compliment settled in the pit of my stomach and warmed there. I blushed. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He nodded, kept the conversation going. “You know, I used to have a job where I was a clown for hire?”

That I couldn’t see. I laughed, “Really?”

“Yeah, Carnival was my name. I would go to parties and children’s hospitals and stuff, and dance and make people laugh.”

“That’s so fun!” I loved that he was opening up. And he seemed to be enjoying it too.

“My mom always said that I was here to bring joy and laughter to people. That’s why I want to be a comedian.”

The way his eyes shone when he said it, the idea of him having this dream; it made my insides go warm. “I think you could totally do that,” I said, smiling. I wished he could read my mind.

He cast his eyes downward with a shy smile. He was pleased with my reaction. “What do you like to do? Besides be a waitress, I mean,” he asked.

At this, I really laughed, “Oh you _are_ funny, Arthur.”

He smiled at that, didn’t quite get why I laughed but enjoyed that I did. I continued.

“I don’t _like_ waitressing, I do that to pay the bills,” I took another piece of the pastry. He nodded in realization.

“Actually, I really enjoy dancing,” I offered, sheepishly. I looked up and found him watching my every move, like I were a play he couldn’t take his eyes off.

“Dancing?” he asked, mesmerized.

“Yeah, like... interpretive dance, I guess you could call it.” I felt so self-conscious suddenly. No one had ever asked me about my dancing. And if they did, they laughed at it. Thought it was frivolous.

His mixed emotions played across his face. I stopped, back-pedaled. “It’s weird, you probably think it’s stupid, just forget it.”

At this, he sprang back to life. “No! I don’t think it’s stupid, not at all! I just told you I was a clown,” he offered.

That brought a smile to my face.

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just... I’m actually performing in a show a few weeks from now, if you wanted to see,” I offered, my nerves twisting my stomach in knots. So this was what it was like to ask someone on a date. It was awful. But only for a second. Because he looked like I’d just given him a million dollars.

He stuttered as he tried to get the words out fast enough. “That would be... yes.”

My shoulders released, “Really?” No one had ever been excited for me before. Now I knew how he felt when I agreed to go to his stand-up show. 

He nodded fervently, “I cant wait.”

I smiled, locking eyes with him. “Me neither.”

The song ended and “The Moon is a Silver Dollar” by Lawrence Welk came on the radio next, a happy, sweet song right out of the 30’s.

After a few seconds of staring at each other with stars in our eyes, he glanced down at his hands on the table nervously. “Can... can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Would you be mad if I kissed you?”

The blood rushed to my head and I blushed wildly with a giggle. So did he.

When I glanced back up, I tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach at the thought of it and managed to reply, “No, Arthur. I wouldn’t be mad at all.“

His shoulders dropped in relief. He nodded. “Okay, good.”

I half expected him to kiss me then and there, but he didn’t.

Even after we’d left the coffee shop and made our way back home, I kept waiting for this kiss he was so excited about, and got nothing. Instead, we took our time walking through the streets of Gotham, looking in shop windows and ogling the expensive Christmas gifts for sale: portable music players and headphones, Star Wars toys, bicycles.

It wasn’t what I would have expected a real romantic date to be, but I found myself completely smitten with him. I loved the way he smiled into each new storefront and made jokes about the weather. I wondered if it would be too forward to hold his hand.

At one point we had to cross through Robinson Park, and while I wouldn’t have walked it alone even during daylight hours, I felt completely safe and happy to stroll through it with Arthur by my side.

By the time we got back to our building, I began to get worried: would he ever kiss me? We rode up to the 8th floor in the elevator, and of course it didn’t get stuck once. The _one_ time I wouldn’t have minded being stuck!

As the doors opened and we stepped off, I paused to see what he’d do - and he turned with me to walk me to my door. Finally, I thought; he’d have to kiss me goodnight.

But as I unlocked the door and thanked him for a wonderful night, he thanked me and fidgeted with his hair instead of looking at me. His nerves were too rattled; he tapped his leg with his hand as if to remind himself he was really there.

“I can’t wait to see you again, Arthur,” I offered helpfully.

He glanced up. “Me too, Jessica.”

I smiled. “You can call me Jay.”

His brow creased, “Isn’t your name Jessica though?”

I smiled - he really did want me to have my name. It was sweet. “It is. I like it, thank you.”

He was pleased with himself. “Have a good night,” he said quietly as he backed away.

“Good night,” I said, hopefully.

But he was gone, turned back around and walking down the hall with that half-limp of his.

Disappointed, I backed into my apartment and waited a second before closing the door. He really was a nervous guy, I couldn’t fault him for that. I resolved to make a move the next time I saw him and put a record on. Crosby, Stills & Nash serenaded me with “Helplessly Hoping” as I undressed and got into my kimono and poured myself a glass of wine.

I rolled my shoulders and sighed, taking my first sip. This was a good night, I told myself. He’s just a shy guy. Another sip, bigger this time. Just as I went to turn off the lamp and get ready for bed, there was a knock at my door. This late? I checked the peephole and my heart jumped into my throat.

I opened the door and found him standing there, desperate and breathless. Before I could say his name, he stepped through the doorway, took my face in his hands and covered my lips with his.

Finally, I thought; he was here, he was real, and he was kissing me like his life depended on it. It was better than I ever could have imagined. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back, losing myself entirely as he backed me into my own hallway. He was like a completely different person in this moment: forceful and confident. It was enough to make my head spin.

Briefly, he pulled away and found my eyes. I panted. The heat of his body seeped right through the thin fabric of my kimono and made me burn for him. It had been so long since I’d been so close to someone. It felt so good.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his breath short.

I let out a laugh, “Sorry?” I searched his face, shook my head. “Arthur…”

He opened his mouth to speak and I had had enough. It was my turn to silence him with a kiss, this one soft and sweet. Just like I’d dreamed, I ran my fingers through his hair and sighed against his lips; he was perfect. He responded by holding me tight against him; so tight I could feel his heartbeat through his jacket. If the world ended right then and there, I would have been happy.

But just as I shifted to walk him back into my apartment, my neighbor across the hallway opened their door and shocked us both; Arthur stepped away as if burned, the moment dissolving right before my eyes. The neighbor had no clue; she just turned and left us standing in my doorway, but the damage had been done.

Arthur fidgeted with his hair and his jacket, unable to meet my gaze. “Have sweet dreams,” he said to his shoes.

I dared to reach out and touch his face, caressing his cheek to bring his gaze to mine. He looked at me with so much want, it made my core ache. When I replied, my voice was a whisper. “Sweet dreams, Arthur.”

He smiled and placed his hand over mine, held it against his cheek for a moment and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he smiled at me and turned once more, back down the hallway for good this time.

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding the whole time, stepped back into my apartment and shut the door.

Not bad for a first date.


	4. "Wonderful Tonight"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Chapter: A dinner date between Arthur and Jessica turns into more than dinner, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these were published out of order - I just got such great feedback on this story and had a dinner date story stuck in my head that I never had time to write before now, so here you go!

“Wonderful Tonight” drifted from the stereo on the kitchen counter now, its slow melody setting a new tone while we waited for dinner to finish cooking. A pot of sauce sat on the stove, heating up, while pasta boiled. We sat at the table waiting, talking, sharing a bottle of wine. As I took another long slow sip, he found my eyes. “Are you excited for your show?”

It was so nice to have someone take an interest in me. “I am. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

He smiled, “Neither can I. I like dancing too, but just regular dancing. I don’t get to do it very often, though.”

I raised an eyebrow as I stood and stirred the sauce, “Regular dancing, like at a club?” I peeked over my shoulder. 

He stopped himself, “Oh no, like... slow dancing.” I could see he was embarrassed to admit it. 

“I like slow dancing too. But it’s hard to do it alone.”

I finished stirring and when I turned back around, I found him standing, holding his hand out with a smile. 

He’d set me up.

My heart fluttered as I accepted his offer and he pulled me closer. Moving his hands to my waist, he began to sway me gently while Eric Clapton serenaded us. I twirled with him as he sang along to the words under his breath, “...And then she asks me, ‘Do you feel alright?’...” He spun me slowly, returning to wrap his arms around me tighter, “And I said yes, I feel wonderful tonight...” 

His lips were so close to mine. On an empty stomach, the wine had gone straight to my head. I wanted to kiss him, but he was busy studying my features. “Did you know you have freckles?” he asked as the music continued. 

I blushed. “Yes.”

He smiled at them, his eyes moving over my face and finding mine. “I don’t think I’ve ever noticed someone’s freckles before.”

“I don’t think anyone’s noticed mine before,” I offered as he stepped away and lifted my arm to spin me, bringing a smile to my face. 

He pulled me closer again for the end of the song with a reluctant smile. “Slow dancing songs are never long enough.”

I gave him a soft smile and thought about kissing him. “You’re right. That one wasn’t.”

He didn’t seem ready to let me go either, but the pasta began to boil over on the stove and caught my attention; we had no choice but to part so I could finish making dinner. Stupid dinner.

But once I did, we sat down and dug in. “This is delicious,” he hummed, eating hungrily.

“Thanks. I only have a few recipes but this is one of my favorites,” I offered. He nodded appreciatively, clearly enjoying himself. I wondered then if he hadn’t had much home cooking. 

He must have read my mind. “I don’t get much time to cook,” he explained between bites, “And to be honest I’m not that good at it. Usually I just stick with TV dinners.”

I smiled, “Well maybe I can teach you some cooking tips?”

He nodded as he mopped up some sauce with a slice of bread, “That would be nice.”

After some silence and more eating, he ventured a little deeper. “You know, up until recently, I didn’t have much of an appetite anyway. I was on medication that... kept me from getting hungry. I lost a lot of weight on it.”

I knew what kind of medication he meant. But I wasn’t going to assume or embarrass him. “Oh?”

“Yeah, for my... condition,” he offered. I nodded, letting him work through how much he wanted to say. He rushed through an explanation, “It’s okay though, I‘ve actually been doing okay without them. It’s been a week now.”

I smiled encouragingly, “That’s great. You don’t need them anymore?”

He looked past my shoulder, thought about how to say it, and smiled. “Something like that.”

Okay then. I wasn’t going to pry. This was already more in-depth conversation than we’d had during our coffee date the weekend prior, so I was going with it. Besides, his smile when he looked back at me was just half hidden; a sly quirk in his cheek that said he was more interested in what he was seeing than what he was saying. 

When the meal was done, he filled my wine glass and sat back with a smile, but dropped the bottle as he put it down, knocking it over and spilling the little liquid that was left onto the table. He jumped up with a soft curse, looking for a towel, "Shit, I'm so sorry..."

I slid out from the table with a laugh and stood before it could drip into my lap, "Don't worry about it," I reassured him. I reached for the stack of dish towels in the cabinet above the counter behind me but found they were just too high for me to grab. On tiptoes I struggled, when a soft hand wrapped around my waist and shocked me - Arthur had stepped directly behind me and was holding my waist as he reached over my head to help.

Without turning, I froze. He moved so slowly - too slowly to not be deliberate - and grabbed a towel from the top shelf, pressing his whole body against mine, slowly, deliciously. While I couldn't see him, I felt him acutely: his heat radiated into my back. His breath gave me goosebumps as he whispered, "Why do you keep the towels so high up?” 

Wine dripped off the table, red drops splashing in a puddle on the tile below. 

Lightheaded, I murmured - “I don’t know...” - just as he brought his lips to the curve of my neck. It sent a flush of heat through my body, his tongue lathing against the sensitive skin there and taking my breath away. I exhaled his name like a prayer.

His response was a whisper, “Yeah?" It wasn't a question so much as a warm breath that made me melt into him. I fit just right. I couldn’t resist any longer and turned, finding him staring hungrily back at me. Without thinking, I finally kissed him, down and deep. Instantly, the need I felt for him took me over. I laced my fingers through his belt loops and ground my hips against his, his growing excitement digging into my belly. He broke the kiss for a brief moment to lock eyes with me, panting. His voice came out in a broken whisper, "You taste like wine.”

It made me laugh lightly; he had no filter. 

His brow creased, “No, it’s... it’s good,” he reassured me.

I nodded, “Good.” And with that, I slipped out from his embrace and walked backwards out of the kitchen, smiling at him suggestively. 

When he realized what was happening, he joined me, his smile growing. I reached around and pulled my sweater up and off with a malevolent smile as I walked, pleased to see him doing the same with his vest and shirt as we turned the corner into the bedroom. When I stopped at the foot of the bed though, he kept going and bumped into me, sending us both backwards into the comforter. 

After landing with a laugh, he sat up on his knees to help me out of my jeans, laughing some more as we both got tangled up in the legs. I briefly wondered if he’d ever been with a woman before, but as he tossed my jeans aside and got out of his, I realized he was more experienced that I thought. The way we moved left no question as to where we were going with this. It was happening, and it was happening fast. 

Back at his place between my legs, he paused and took in the sight of me before him, drinking it in like water in the desert. I blushed and covered my face with my hand, enamored with him but embarrassed to be on display like that. “What’s wrong?” he laughed as he lay down on top of me. The wine, the crush of his weight, the warmth of his skin against mine… it all made my head swim. 

“Nothing, I just-” I started, before he cut me off with a kiss that took my breath away. For being so shy about kissing me on our first date, he certainly knew what he wanted now. And from my reaction, I wanted it too. His kiss reset the tone and made me realize just how ready I was for this. 

Blindly, he slid a hand down my thigh and hooked under my knee to hike it up against him, crushing our hips together deliciously. So there was no mistake, I broke away from the kiss and panted, "I want to feel you..."

Hearing the words seemed to awaken something in him. It was like he had been waiting for me to say the magic words, and that was it. His eyes were bright and his lip curled in a hungry smile as he dove back in for another kiss and we were off. Like finding our way to each other in a dark room, we fumbled at first but soon fell into a sweet rhythm, breath syncing and hearts racing. Over swells of pleasure, we held tight to each other and crested each wave, picking up speed. Together we sped towards a cliff at the edge of the world, towards a blinding white release that left us both breathless and stunned. We’d found something beautiful in this ugly world, together, and nothing was going to take that away from us.

Tangled in the sheets and glowing with happiness, the last thing I was conscious of before falling asleep in his arms was his kiss on the top of my head and his whispered confession: 

“I’m falling for you.”

I hummed in happiness, “I’ll catch you.”

And in my dreams, it only got better.  
-  
The next morning, I woke to the sound of rain and gray light filling my bedroom. I sighed and stirred, feeling someone in the bed next to me. Opening my eyes, the memory of what had happened the night before came back to me all at once and I smiled; Arthur was there, still asleep, face pressed into my pillow.

My movement woke him gently with a sigh. When he saw me there, his smile warmed my whole body. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. He reached out to tuck some hair behind my ear.

“Morning.” 

“You were in my dream last night,” he sighed, shifting under the blanket to slide closer to me and slip a hand over my hip to pull me near.

I went with it and pressed my body against his, “Yeah? Was it a good dream?”

To my surprise, he shook his head, “No.”

My brow furrowed. “What happened?”

His voice was nearly a whisper. “I came to see you dance... in your show. But you were afraid of me. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

That was odd. “Why?” I asked, curious to get some insight into his mind.

He shook his head lightly with a half shrug and leaned in to kiss me once, then twice. His lips fit mine so perfectly, they almost made me forget what we were talking about. When he pulled away softly, he replied, “Dreams don’t always make sense.”

I hummed, taking in the details of his face: the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the melted ice color they took on when he was relaxed. 

“When you smile, your lip curls up in this corner first,” I said, touching his cheek. It brought a new smile to his face. 

He laughed lightly, blushed a little. “Yeah?” 

How had I managed to find this man, I wondered as he studied my features with tender eyes.

My years in this city had worn me down. Work, dance, sleep. A routine that numbed me to the point of tears some days, as good as I thought it was going to get. Until he kissed me that night in my doorway, and suddenly I was happier in one moment than I’d ever been in ten years of living in Gotham. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might find happiness right there in my diner, but there he was. Literally: the guy had worked as a clown and wanted to be a comedian. Happiness personified. Sure, he had his quirks, but who didn’t? 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly. 

I blinked slowly and smiled, “You.”

He smiled, but then his face turned serious. “Would you hate me if I scared you?”

This made me pause. My face fell and he saw it. “Like I did in my dream,” he explained.

He just wouldn’t let this go, I realized. I shook my head, “That was your dream. Why would you ever scare me in real life?”

He seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment, contemplating my question. When he found my eyes again, he replied, “I wouldn’t mean to.”

I softened, settled back into the pillow and stroked some hair from his brow. “I wouldn’t hate you because I know you wouldn’t mean it.” 

He nodded to himself, pleased with that. But I took it a step farther. 

“Would you stop if I asked you to?”

His brow creased. His response sent a chill down my back.

“I don’t know if I could.”

The pain in his eyes scared me. 

“Arthur… are you going to do something that you think will scare me?”

At this, he came back to the present. “No.” His eyes had turned gray, that blue shine I loved so much dulled with the admission of this lie.

“Are you sure?” I asked, giving him one last chance for honesty. 

His eyes fell. When he looked back, they were clear once again. Like a switch had been flicked, like that day in the diner. His smile seemed genuine. “I’m sure. I’m sorry, I just... can’t stop thinking about that dream.”

I could only take him at his word. So I did.


	5. "Make Someone Happy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica's world starts to crumble, but Arthur is there to pick up the pieces.

It wasn’t so much that I’d been mugged; I had next to no money on me anyway. But the way the creep had felt me up while he did it, that powerless feeling it left me with - not to mention the torn tights and missing buttons on my shirt from being shoved to the ground and groped... I was almost too angry to cry.

Almost.

By the time I finally made it into my shift at the diner, I was in full-blown pity mode. Until my boss caught sight of me, and his reaction pushed me into anger again. All the times he'd harassed me, told me I was worthless.. the things I had done to keep this crappy job... 

“A half hour late? And what the hell is going on here?” He gestured wildly at my torn and dirtied clothes.

I wiped the tears from my eyes as I shoved my bag into the closet in the back room of the kitchen, “I was mugged, just give me a few minutes to clean up.”

Determined not to look at him, I tried to breeze past him to the restroom when he held an arm out and nearly clotheslined me.

I backed up, avoiding his eyes as the anger surged inside me. _Don’t do it, don’t do anything stupid. Just take it and move on, you can’t lose this job_, I told myself.

“I don’t run that kind of ship here. Zero tolerance policy on lateness.”

I willed myself to meet his gaze and replied through gritted teeth, “I said I was mugged. They assaulted me.”

“You know, it’s not assault...” he sidled up to me, uncomfortably close, wrapped a hand around my ribs, “... if you enjoy it.”

His smug smile made my stomach turn. My vision went white. The rage swelled up inside of me one last time and my hand twitched into a fist at my side. Before I could stop myself, I swung it straight up in an uppercut to his chin.

His head rocked back and he stumbled, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth - he’d bitten his own tongue.

When he straightened and wiped his mouth, he was calm. Too calm. My insides went cold. His voice was like ice. “Get out of here.”

“Let me get cleaned up and I can just get through my shift, it won’t happen again,” I said, panicked. The fear of losing my job for good now was too great, I couldn’t lose this job, not now...

He shook his head, held the door of the kitchen open, the sounds of a busy restaurant seeping in. A whole world of normal people with no problems, right there, while behind this door my world was falling apart.

“Be grateful I don’t press charges,” he seethed, the hate in his face making him even uglier. Him? Press charges? In what kind of fucked up world could he... I laughed, involuntarily, at my own naïveté. This world. Of course this pig could sue me and win, in this fucked up world.

“You’re laughing at me?” he shouted as I turned through the door and into the busy restaurant and fought my way through the tables to get the hell out of there before it got worse. But it did.

“You have the balls to laugh at me? Get the hell out of here,” he trailed after me as I tried to escape, causing people to turn their heads and stare at the scene, “and if you don’t return that apron I’ll take it out of your last check!”

I couldn’t stop the tears. Every person in the diner seemed to look at me, their gazes burning, judging me as I pushed past a crowd in the doorway and made it outside where it had started to rain.

Glancing back just once through the window from the corner of my eye, I spotted Arthur at his usual post at the counter, standingso he could watch me with a look of... pity? Panic?

I couldn’t process that. I practically ran home and threw myself into the elevator, smashing the 8th floor button to close the doors so I could cry without anyone watching.

Up, up, up, I crept, until suddenly - bam - the elevator stopped in mid-flight.

The frustration of it all: the mugging, the assault, losing my job, the humiliation, the shitty apartment problems... I felt like bursting. A scream ripped from my throat, unearthly and hot, from deep inside of me like some kind of demon. I screamed until my lungs emptied and I couldn’t see.

As if in response, the elevator sprang to life and brought me up to my floor, as if nothing had happened.

A half hour later, I hadn’t moved from where I collapsed on the floor just inside my apartment in a heap, when the doorbell rang. I wiped my eyes as I answered it, but froze when I saw who it was:

There stood Arthur at my door, in full clown makeup, neon green wig and giant shoes and everything. His old clown costume. I burst out laughing through my tears without even thinking - he looked ridiculous. He smiled from ear to ear at my reaction.

“Arthur-“ I began, before he held up a finger silently, an exaggerated movement that only made me laugh more.

He removed a boom box from under his arm and placed it on the floor delicately, wiggling his fingers and making a show of pressing play, then straightening himself out and waiting for the music.

As it began - the delicate, plucky strings of “Make Someone Happy” buzzed out of the little speakers at his feet - he broke into a sweet smile and started his dance. Stepping to one side, then the other in time with the music, he introduced the waving of his arms as the lyrics began: “It's so important to make someone happy,” Durante crooned, “Make just one someone happy…” Arthur produced a magic wand from inside his sleeve and made me jump - he’d hidden it well, maybe he really was a good clown!

“Make just one heart the heart you… sing to,” Durante continued, just as Arthur snapped the wand in half and revealed a huge bouquet of fake flowers and presented it to me. I jumped back and laughed with glee, the tears still blurring my vision now falling on my cheeks.

“One smile that cheers you, one face that lights when it nears you, one girl you're ev'rything to,” he presented me with the bouquet and a deep bow. I accepted, murmured my thanks. He was something. 

“Fame if you win it,” he popped back up and burst through the door past me, prop-falling into my apartment and startling me, before popping back up to his feet with a giant leap and a flourish of his arms, “Comes and goes in a minute. Where's the real stuff in life to cling to?” I picked up the radio and brought it into the apartment, let the door close behind me as he continued his silly dance and the music swelled:

“Love is the answer,” he opened his arms to me as if to display me. I put the radio down and laughed softly, blushed at his attention and sniffed as he came to his big finale.

“Someone to love is the answer,” he took one more step closer to me. My body responded before my brain could; I liked this.

“Once you've found her,” I looked down at him, drank in the sight of him so near.

“Build your world around her,” I felt his heat, noticed he was out of breath from his performance. His eyes landed on my lips.

“Make someone happy,” he circled me with his arms and my stomach did a somersault. Was this happening?

“Make just one someone happy,” his hands cupped my face delicately.

“And you will be happy, too.” His thumbs caressed the tears from my cheeks. I closed my eyes at the contact.

The music swelled and finally, his lips met mine. 

Distantly, I heard the backup singers end the song with a final “And you will be happy, too….” But all I could focus on was his kiss. It was gentle, just like his touch, but insistent. I responded by reaching up blindly to remove the wig from his head and dropped it to the floor, ran my fingers through his hair. He hummed against my lips, his urgency growing. When he pulled away to catch his breath, I could see the bliss in his eyes…

And then there was the laughter. It came from deep inside of him, somewhere hidden, and the fear flashed in his eyes.

It was an episode, I knew, completely out of his control. “It’s okay,” I said quickly, reassuringly.

He grimaced through the laughter and shook his head, clearly upset. His face paint was now wrecked thanks to our kiss. That’s when I realized what must have triggered it.

Turning to find my reflection in the hall mirror, I burst out laughing too:

I was covered in clown makeup.

He doubled over now and fell to the ground on his knees, unable to keep up with the laughter that flowed out of him like lava, unwanted and uncontrollable. But as he saw me laughing too, at the absurdity of looking like I’d been hit in the face with a paintbrush, I saw the recognition and relief in his eyes.

I laughed until I cried again, the memory of being fired and the desperation of my situation all flooding my senses and overwhelming me with emotion.

Through my own tears, I pointed to myself and then at him, and laugh-sobbed, “A couple of clowns!”

He nodded fervently, “I didn’t think it would do that to your face!” His laughter sounded just a touch less maniacal now - he was able to control it just a bit better as we laughed together.

Only now I wasn’t laughing. I was crying, full-on tears. I sank to my knees next to him. He finally calmed to regular giggles when he realized what was happening.

“Hey hey, I’m… I’m sorry, no no no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He rushed forward to brush the hair from my face and calm me.

I shook my head and choked, “It’s okay, it’s not you...”

His concern, my exhaustion - it was all too much. I curled up in his lap with one more sob and gave up. He smelled like lavender soap and aftershave.

He rested his hand on my back, gently, almost afraid to touch me. I sighed at his touch; the warmth of his hand through my shirt calmed me. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. He had no idea. But he was trying. And it made my heart swell.

Stroking softly, he moved his hand to my hair where he tangled his fingers and stroked. My sobs subsided to sighs, and he tucked my hair behind my ear. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to.

But I didn’t have to, for he shifted gently under me, murmuring, “Here,” as he lay down on the floor, bringing me with him and wrapping himself around me from behind, big spoon to my little one. He was warm from head to toe. I felt his heartbeat against my back and his breath against my neck.

As he squeezed me against him, I pulled his arm around me tighter and closed my eyes. My world was in literal flames around me, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, as long as he was there, it didn’t matter.


	6. "Smile"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost showtime for Jessica and Arthur.

It had been a few days since I’d last seen Arthur, and I was slightly worried. He was supposed to let me know more about his appearance on the Murray Franklin Show that day, but even after my calls and visits went unanswered by 2pm, I still hadn’t heard anything.

I tried to keep my mind off of things with some dance practice - my show was coming up in just a few days, after all. It was really something to be excited about: Arthur and I both getting such big opportunities, within a week of each other. I had looked forward to cheering him on in the audience tonight, and even allowed myself some silly daydreams about him coming to my show next week with a bouquet of flowers and taking me out for dinner afterwards...

But the thought of him ignoring me now, changing his mind and dumping me, it was enough to nearly bring me to tears.

After limbering up and doing some stretches, I put on my practice record and treated my rehearsal like the real thing, gathering myself into as tight of a ball as I could on the floor for the start of my dance.

As the music started and the backup vocals soared over the sweeping orchestral introduction, I came to life with a grand gesture and swayed from one foot to the other as Jimmy Durante began his sweet melody with his opening word:

“Smile, though your heart is achin'. Smile, even though it's breakin'... When there are are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by...”

With each “smile”, an over-exaggerated smile spread across on my face and fell with the next word as I lifted my arms and balanced on either leg with each line, the leaps between highs and lows mirroring my movements.

“If you smile, through your fear and sorrow, smile, and maybe tomorrow you’ll see the sun come shinin' through, for you...”

My heart swelled in my chest at the emotion in the lyrics. I tried to smile, tried to push through the ‘fear and sorrow’ with my dancing, stretching my arms out and feeling the words with my whole body. But the more I tried to smile, the harder it was to hold the tears back.

“Light up your face with gladness. Hide every trace of sadness. Although a tear, may be... ever so near.”

I sniffed and wiped my eyes as I continued to dance, pushing through.

“That's the time, You must keep on tryin'. Smile, what's the use of cryin'? You'll find that life is still worth while, if you just smile.”

The backup singers came sweeping in with their refrain and I wound my body in graceful circles with the cadence of Durante’s final words:

“Light up your face with gladness, hide every trace of sadness, although a tear may be ever so near. That's the time you must keep on tryin'. Smile, what's the use of cryin'? You'll find that life is still worth while if you... just smile.”

I turned my back to the imaginary audience and prepared for the finale as the backup vocalists sang: “You’ll find that life’s worthwhile...”

As the music swelled and Durante crooned his final line, “If you... just smile,” I spun and nearly jumped out of my skin at the sight of him, standing in my living room in his clown makeup.

“Arthur! Jesus!” I screamed, stumbling back and clutching my chest in surprise.

He applauded me with a smile, but it was all wrong. This wasn’t the sad clown that danced at children’s hospitals or in my living room; this was a predator.

Although he smiled, his expression was cold, detached. His suit was too sharp, too red, a bright yellow vest and green dress shirt underneath. His hair was dyed, a sickly green, and slicked back. But the most jarring thing, the most terrifying… was his face paint. The red... it looked like blood.

I’d stopped breathing at the sight of him. “Arthur…” I managed to exhale. “What... happened to you?”

He stepped forward into my apartment and I instinctively moved backwards - he moved so confidently, almost like a different person. It was chilling. He smiled, a too-wide grin exaggerated by the face paint. “The rich deserve a wake up call, right?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, it hit me:

“It was you.”

Everything he’d said about the killer clown, the Joker... All the air left the room. The walls tilted; I felt dizzy.

“The whole time, it was you. The clown.”

He held his arms out to his side and bowed; a clown prince.

“I actually like ‘Joker’,” he corrected.

I couldn’t see from the tears now. How could I have been so blind?

Suddenly my stomach went cold and my face crumpled at the realization: “Are you going to kill me now?” I asked, my shaky voice a whisper. I took one unsteady step backwards.

His smile fell and his brow furrowed. In one motion, he took one step closer and reached out to take my cheek into his hand. I gasped and squirmed backwards in his grasp, squealing at his touch, “No no no no no, please-“

He was just inches from my face now, his lips so close to mine. I could smell the blood on him. It turned my stomach. What had happened to my Arthur?

But now that he was closer, I could see the pain in his eyes: over my fear. When he spoke, it was a whisper. Tender, like the night he held me as I cried myself to sleep on the floor.

“I will never hurt you. _Ever_.”

Incredulous, I blinked back more tears and realized: he was serious.

“You were the only good thing to happen to me. I would never hurt you, for as long as I live. Do you understand me?” he asked, desperate for me to comprehend.

I gave a small nod. “What are you going to do now?" I asked, my voice shaking.

He released my face and stepped back, straightening out his vest. “I’m going on the Murray Franklin Show, remember? Are you going to watch? Promise me you’ll watch, it’s going to be great.”

My mind raced. I was only half listening, but I nodded. I was desperately trying to come up with something, anything, to stop this madness. Absurdly, a thought crossed my mind: “Okay. I’ll watch. But what if after, we just… ran away? We could leave Gotham!”

But even as I said the words, I knew how ridiculous they were. He was too far gone now. Whatever he’d done, there was no running away from.

He shook his head sadly. “No. That’s not…” he trailed off, as if he were considering it for just a split second, then snapped back to the present, “No.”

I nodded - he was right - and choked down a sob. He looked at me sadly, then smiled.

“It’s okay. Don’t cry…” He stepped closer again, more gently this time. Almost like the night of our first kiss. He brought a hand to cup my face. This time I didn’t flinch; I leaned into his touch like a cat and closed my eyes, tears streaking my cheeks. He caught them with his thumb. When I looked at him again, I knew this was it. I willed myself to hold my sobs back and took in his eyes one last time.

“I’ll never hurt you,” he repeated. “But you’ll never see me again,” he finished with a nod. He meant it.

A hiccuping sob escaped my throat as I tried to catch my breath.

His brows creased in sadness for me as he pressed his forehead against mine and cradled my face with both hands. “Thank you,“ he whispered.

My tears flowed freely now and my face crumpled. “Goodbye,” I managed to gasp through tears.

He closed his eyes and I let it happen; he pressed his lips against mine for one last kiss. Sweet, like the very first one we shared not too long ago, and soft. More gentle than he seemed capable of in his current state. I closed my eyes and wanted the world to stop, just for another minute, to give us time - time for what? Anything. Anything but whatever it was he was about to do.

But that wasn’t the plan. He pulled away and looked at me as if he were memorizing every detail of my face. I did the same to him.

And with that, he moved past me to the window where he threw one leg out onto the fire escape. Just before he climbed out, he turned to me one last time. “Hey-“

I turned expectantly. His exaggerated grin grew even wider as he smiled beneath the paint. 

“Smile.”

I heard the emotion in his voice now, finally. Just a slight crack, in a single word, but it was enough to send me into a despair I didn’t know I could feel.

As he disappeared from sight, I took one step forward before I realized he wasn’t coming back. I crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

Arthur was gone.

It was Joker’s turn.


	7. "White Room"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham is burning, but sometimes it's more fun to burn.

Madness. Arthur had descended into complete and absolute madness, right in front of me and millions of other people who watched him decry the state of the world and then murder Murray Franklin on live television.

I sat, numb, on the floor in front of my screen, hand over my mouth, as he approached the camera, covered in blood after he pulled the trigger. Though tears blurred my vision, my body reacted involuntarily when his menacing look came into focus and it seemed like he was about to climb through the camera into my living room. I scrambled back from my TV with a scream just as the feed went off the air abruptly and left me questioning if what I’d just seen was real.

He was lost. Utterly and completely. What had I done? Had I failed him in some way? Did this even have anything to do with me? It couldn’t.

My head spun and my stomach clenched - I was going to be sick. Racing to the toilet, I made it just in time and heaved. The tears flowed freely now as I sat back on the cold tile floor and shook. Before I could think about what to do next, the dull roar of a crowd from outside my apartment caught my ear.

On shaking legs I stood and made my way to the window, where the sight took my breath away: mobs of people in the streets, carrying Molotov cocktails and shouting, chanting… all with clown masks.

A nightmare come to life.

He’d gotten his wish. This was the wake-up call we talked about all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t just the rich being woken up; it was the whole city. People were climbing on cars and screaming, throwing flaming bottles through store windows.

Somewhere in the back of my brain, I heard one word: run.

So I did.

As I packed my bag I had no idea where I was headed, I just knew i had to get out of the city before it burned me alive. I had an aunt that lived out in Metropolis; maybe I could get to her by the morning if the trains were still running. Okay. The train. I had a goal. With everything that mattered and a change of clothes tucked into a backpack, I took the eight flights of stairs down and came face to face with hell on earth.

Out on the streets, chaos spilled out of the buildings and onto the sidewalks. One step out of my own building, I got swept up in a passing group of people who’d apparently looted the record store around the corner. They shouted at me but ultimately left me alone as they found a new target up the street. I stuck out already, the only person in the crowd without a mask, so I wrapped my scarf around my face to cover my nose and mouth and tried to move like one of the rioters, looking in stores for something to steal or set on fire. Tucking my bag tight under my arm, I ducked down an alley and ran down 8th to try to avoid the crowds.

On the next street over, however, it was even worse. From somewhere in a building above us, “White Room” by Cream blared on a stereo, a soundtrack to the madness. Cars and storefronts had been set on fire, and an ambulance had t-boned a police car in the intersection. A crowd had begun to gather around the accident site, so I tried skirting them from behind so as not to be seen and instigate the mob.

I was just about clear of the larger crowd when a cheer rose from it and caught my attention. From the far corner I stood at, I turned and spotted a lone figure with his back to me, standing atop the police car that had been totaled, in a familiar red suit.

My god. It was him.

At the realization, I felt his name on my tongue, fighting to jump from behind my teeth with a shout. It tasted metallic.

_Get his attention, _I thought._ Run away with him. Join him, it couldn’t be any worse than life as it was now, could it?_ My mind raced with thought after irrational thought.

He slowly turned to the growing crowd around him, welcoming their cheers and chants._ Joker, Joker. _

A spark of petulance smoldered in my stomach at the sight of him being worshipped. Those hands, now covered in blood… I held them when they shook from nerves before his first stand-up set. Those arms… I could still feel them wrapped around me as he rocked me to sleep. Why should these strangers get to keep him as their clown prince when I couldn’t keep him as a lover?

It wasn’t fair, I thought, that I didn’t get my happy ending when he got his. 

I looked around at the city in flames around me. The time for rational thought was long gone. I needed to see his face. I tore my scarf from my mouth and shouted his name… but my voice was lost, one of hundreds now that gathered around our new symbol of hope.

I ran towards the crowd, fought my way through and made it 20 feet away from him before I could go no further. His back to me still, he looked down at the crowd and slowly turned. I felt like an obsessive fan at some obscene rock show, praying that the lead singer would notice me; just one in a sea of faces. As he faced us completely, my breath caught in my throat at the sight of him: he was shattered. Unable to stand on one leg, he swayed where he stood. Blood seeped from injuries everywhere, turning the makeup I’d seen him in earlier into a ghoulish shadow of itself, his smile exaggerated in blood.

I gave it one last try and shouted his name as loudly as I could, “_ARTHUR_!”

That did it.

His eyes landed on me and stayed there. I stared, unsmiling. He straightened, as if to gather himself up for presentation, and opened his arms out to his sides with pride. _Here I am_, he seemed to say. It drove the crowd wild. They were nearly at a fever pitch for him now. But it wasn’t for them. His eyes stayed fixed on me. It was all for me.

Because when he said I’d never see him again, he was talking about Arthur. Arthur was gone the second he climbed out my window.

But Joker wasn’t going anywhere. And this was his debut.

Finally, I smiled for him. A big, ear-to-ear grin, just like he used to inspire in me by dancing in the hallway outside my apartment, or by folding me an origami swan at the coffee shop and dropping it into his coffee by accident. I brought my hand to my mouth and blew him a kiss - which he grabbed out of the air and pressed to his heart with a wink.

Gotham was burning. But we would rise from its ashes.


	8. "Crying"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks have passed since Gotham burned and Arthur was reborn, but where has it left Jessica? A visitor gives her hope for a future, no matter how different from the norm it might be.

I hadn’t seen his face in more than a month. 

The thought popped into my head as I prepared for my dance performance, bright lights shining at the vanity table, highlighting the tears that welled in my eyes at the realization.

The last few times I’d seen him, he was covered in clown paint - or paint and blood. The very last time he was surrounded by a mob of people cheering for him, chanting his new adopted name: Joker! Joker!

He’d said I’d never see him again, and he was right. The old Arthur, the one I fell for - fidgety, anxious, uncertain Arthur - died the instant he pulled the trigger on Murray Franklin. 

But a part of me died that night too. Out on the streets in Gotham, caught up in the mob of people in clown masks, the part of me that thought maybe one day things would get better, just maybe... she was carried away on the breeze, with the smoke from the car fires the rioters had set ablaze.

Staring up at him atop a totaled police car, I realized that he was exactly what this city needed: a symbol to unite behind. We’d lived on the fringes and been stepped over too many times. The conversation we’d had that first night all those months ago in the diner - “the rich need a wake-up call” - well, he’d finally done it. He was the alarm clock, the droning sound that wouldn’t be silenced until every last asshole who’d ever sneered at us or looked down their noses at us was wide fucking awake. 

When I screamed his name that night and he found me in the crowd, I knew - it wasn’t over for us. Because I believed in what he stood on top of that police car for.

Before we could reconnect that night, he was whisked away by the crowd, and the next day I learned from the paper that he’d been put in Arkham Asylum. The news of his capture was celebrated by every rich talking head the news. Every politician and sycophant worth their salt made some kind of statement denouncing the violence and uproar that still took place in the streets almost every week.

Where I thought I would be able to forget him, or at the very least check my feelings for him now that I’d seen him do such horrible things, it was exactly the opposite; I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

We had just weeks together before that night, but we had found ourselves in each other. Without him, I was lost. And I would give anything to be with him again.

But he was tucked away in the asylum under lock and key, in the violent crime ward that was not even open to visitors, I learned when I went to visit him a few weeks into his time there. I left him a gift and was told that they would give it to him after inspection; a fresh notebook that I’m sure never made it past the trash can in the reception area I was turned away from.

So I went on with life as best I could, and found a new job at a bar with a boss that was marginally better than my previous one and focused on my dancing. 

After a few weeks, the time came for my performance, the one that I’d practiced for weeks - and one that Arthur had promised he’d attend. After I went to his stand-up set, it was all he could talk about. The dance I’d choreographed to Jimmy Durante’s “Smile” took on an extra meaning now, I realized as I sat at the vanity backstage before the show.

I applied my makeup in the bright lights lining the mirror and held back tears as my mind wandered through the past few months. From the night we finally started talking at the diner, to the first time he kissed me in the hallway of our apartment building... I wondered if his apartment was still vacant and tried to focus on factual things, but eventually my thoughts returned to the way he smelled like lavender soap and the sound of his voice whispering my name from behind me to wake me up.

Makeup done and outfit ready, I took my place and waited for my cue offstage in the darkness, knowing there would be no one in the audience out there for me. A wave of hopelessness washed over me. Why was I even doing this? The song now reminded me of nothing but him, and the thought of dancing to it with a fake smile plastered across my face made my stomach churn. The dance even reminded me of him; the last time he’d been in my apartment, the afternoon before the Murray Franklin Show, he had broken into my apartment to watch me rehearse. 

My throat tightened at that memory of him, the last kiss he gave me; the way his voice cracked when he spoke his last word to me: “Smile.”

I couldn’t dance to a song called Smile if I were sobbing, I reminded myself. And just as the lights dimmed and I took my place behind the curtain, I wiped the last of the tears away and cleared my head. I heard his advice again: Just smile.

As the curtain lifted and the lights came up, I looked out at the audience and saw nothing but silhouettes. Shadows, outlines of people I didn’t know, seated in the audience and standing at the back of the room, all there for the other performers and not me. Just smile.

The music began and I took the first steps, eventually falling into my rhythm. The movements came easily as I’d practiced them for months, but just as I turned once, my eye caught a familiar outline and I nearly stumbled.

It couldn’t be him, I told myself as I picked back up and continued; he was in the bowels of Arkham, locked away for good. My eyes were playing tricks on me because he was who I wanted to see. 

Finally the song was over and I took my final bow, scanning the crowd once more before the curtain fell; he was gone. Of course he was, he was never there in the first place.

Later after the final curtain call and the other dancers had said good night, I remained behind, wiping my makeup off and listening to music on the little stereo on my vanity: “Crying”, by Don McLean. I didn’t want to go home because even my apartment even reminded me of him. Sleeping in that bed was never the same once he had shared it with me.

When the door to the dressing room opened, I paid no mind as it was probably just another dancer coming to gather their things, though I thought I was the only one left...

“You were incredible out there.”

The voice came straight from my dreams. I turned, then shot out of the chair, knocking it over behind me as I backed away from the figure in the doorway. 

“Arthur?!” 

Against all logic, there he stood, in ratty white pants and a dirty brown coat over white shirt, his hair, now its old brown, slicked back over a clean face. And that shy smile was still on his lips.

My heart jumped into my throat at the sight of him. Though it shocked me to see him, and he’d done all those horrible things, I couldn’t deny the pull I felt to him in that moment. My body responded before my brain could check the facts, and I practically jumped into his arms. 

He wrapped himself around me and held me tight against him, lifting my toes off the ground. I laughed just once, in shock, at how solid he was under me. Immediately, it all came flooding back to me: his familiar scent, his height, the way I fit in his arms... 

“I couldn’t miss your show,” he murmured into my hair. Putting me down gently, he kept me wrapped in his arms and looked at me. I did the same to him. He was here, he was really here. “Atmosphere” by Joy Division started on my stereo next.

“How-?” I managed to ask, searching his face. That face I hadn’t seen in months. God, I’d missed it. 

He shrugged, “Budget cuts everywhere, not enough eyes where they should be. Got a little messy at the end there but like I said- I couldn’t miss your show.”

My eyes widened at his confession, but I couldn’t help it: just the thought of it made me smile. Breaking out of an asylum to see me? Knowing his MO, it was romantic, in its own fucked up way. A small laugh escaped my throat as my eyes moved over his face. 

At the sound of my laugh, he smiled even wider, his eyes lighting up. He just wanted to make me laugh. Always. 

I shook my head softly in disbelief at my luck to have this man back in my arms. “Are you going to kiss me or what?” I asked.

It was all he needed to hear. Moving a hand to the back of my head, he leaned in and - finally, after all those tears, thinking he was gone for good - kissed me.

It was like nothing had changed. Our lips were still made for each other, our bodies still responded the same way. 

But as we kissed, a thought surfaced from the depths of my mind and made me stop and pull away gently. 

“What happens now?” I asked. The gravity of the situation weighed too heavily for my heart to stay airborne.

He contemplated what he wanted to say. I knew the look. He had a plan but didn’t want to let on. But when he looked back at me, my eyes cut through him. He couldn’t lie. “I can’t stay.”

My heart seized at the thought: was I losing him again? He saw the emotions cross my face and reassured me, “Only for a bit, I’ll... I’ll be back, just not right away. I have-“ he cut himself off.

He seemed to realize that the less he said, the less of a chance there was for me to try to convince him to stay. So he stopped talking, moved his hand to my cheek and stroked softly, and just repeated himself with a softer, reassuring smile: “I’ll be back.”

I wanted too much in one moment. But I knew he was telling the truth. He always did with me.

“I know you will,” I shrugged, accepting it, “Where’s the fun in starting a fire if you don’t stick around to watch it burn?”

His whole face lit up and his brows popped up in surprise; there was his girl, the same one who said the rich needed a wake-up call that night in the diner. He dove in with that smile and kissed me again, his enthusiasm making our teeth clack together. I laughed against his lips, tried to freeze that moment in my memory. It would have to last me for god knew how long.

When he stepped away, he gave a little wave and backed out of the dressing room, shutting the door - he was gone again but not for long. I could live with that.


	9. "I’m Not in Love"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica’s new job isn’t as quiet as her last one, but Arthur is there to help smooth things over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: attempted assault and violence

“Come on, baby, just a little taste!”

The voice was loud, the consonants slurred. I rolled my eyes as I turned to the far side of the bar where he sat and called back, “No more tastes, pal, you’re cut off!”

The other patrons watched us like a tennis match - uncomfortable over his drunken shouts but unsure of how to help me. This rich guy in a $1,00 suit (he’d screamed about the price a few times) had been screaming at me for about a half hour by now, his voice rising louder as the night wore on. Mike, the owner, had given the signal to serve him only water and I did just that, much to the anger of this extremely belligerent man.

To avoid engaging with him any further, I busied myself with finishing the washing and flicked the lights on as I walked past the switch, “Last call!”

The few regulars that I’d come to know personally - working stiffs, generally nice folks - shifted off of their seats and tossed their money on the bar, staggering in singles and pairs out onto the street, leaving me with Mister Personality slumped over the end of the bar. 

The owner sauntered by to empty the register and nodded to the straggler, “Hey buddy, time to go home!”

He stood and glared at the two of us, contemplating what to do next, looked like he might be sick. But before Mike could say it again, the man stumbled backwards out onto the street. I shook my head as I finished cleaning up, and Mike gave a wave as he headed out the back door.

“Don’t forget to lock up,” he called over his shoulder.

“I won’t. G’night, Mike,” I called as I shut off the lights and left through the front, locking the doors behind me. Gotham after 2am wasn’t the most welcoming place, so I hurried down the street and cut through the alley to cut the corner to my street.

But as soon as I turned the corner I knew I’d made a mistake: there was Mister Personality, leaning against the wall and taking a leak. My footsteps caused him to look up and spot me. “Hey, it’s the vodka police!” he slurred, pointing at me and lurching forward.

I turned without a second thought and doubled back on my route to get around the opposite corner, but he followed, bellowing after me. “I just wanna talk to you! C’mon, don’t be a cunt!”

Up the side street I ducked, and when I knew he couldn’t see me I broke into a run. I didn’t even want him seeing where I lived. His shouts grew distant, but I didn’t stop. Around the next corner I turned and spotted my building in the distance, just up the hill about 50 yards.

He sounded far enough away, so I slowed and looked behind me, only to run right into him. I screamed and he grabbed me, too rough to be joking. “Can’t have vodka, can’t have you, what the fuck,” he mumbled, dragging me backwards into the alley right next to my building. I was so close I could see the front door. How horrible I thought, almost with a laugh, would it be to be assaulted with my front door in sight?

I kicked against him and thrashed, letting out another scream that caused a few lights to turn on in the windows above us. But he was bigger than me, and had enough height that he was able to drag me into the alley and pin me against the wall with a hand covering my nose and mouth. 

Just as he looked down to focus on his next move, I saw a shadow move from behind him. Then - BAM - a deafening pop and a blinding flash of white light, and a warm spray against my face. I screamed as the side of my attacker’s head exploded in a sick red mess and he dropped to the ground.

When I looked back up, Arthur was there, lowering his gun and smiling like he’d just stumbled across me on the sidewalk, blood spattered across his shirt. Gasping for air, I touched my face and my fingertips covered in blood. The smell of it sickened me.

He looked down at my attacker as he tucked the gun in his back pocket and held out his hand, “Here. See how easy that was?” 

Now my brain was able to slow down and understand what had happened. I looked down at his hand, frozen in shock. He straightened, disappointed. “What’s wrong, you’re not happy to see me?”

He followed my gaze down to the body that lay at my feet in a pool of dark red, “Oh... this? You don’t-“ he took my hand and helped me step over the mess, reaching into his coat pocket for a handkerchief. Just as if he were wiping away some dust from a delicate statue, he cradled my cheek and wiped the blood from my face. I kept my own panicked eyes on his as he worked; he was the complete opposite image of me, the calm smile on his face jarring but comforting.

By the time he was done, his hands were covered in blood, the rag stunk of copper. “You don’t have to worry about this,” he said reassuringly, the sight of him wiping his hands off and tucking the cloth back in his pocket absolutely at odds with the words he spoke.

Tears stung my eyes, involuntary tears that welled up and spilled onto my cheeks; the reality hit me all at once. That was too close. I’d nearly been broken. But Arthur was there, as always, to help me pick up the pieces. The shock was still fresh, but all I could think of was logic. Through tears, I sniffed dumbly, “Do you want to come upstairs and get cleaned off?” As if just washing it away would mean it hadn’t happened. 

But to his credit, he sprang into action and held his elbow out like a gentleman in an old movie. This was completely and utterly normal for him. And the sight of him next to me in the elevator, smiling with blood spattered on his neck, knowing he’d just murdered a man for attacking me, as we rode up to my apartment together like any other couple coming back from a date at the bar... suddenly it didn’t seem so abnormal to me either. 

When the elevator stuck around the 5th floor, like it always did, I looked at the smiling, blood-soaked man next to me and felt the familiar pull for him once again. This city had warped me. This was real life - and real death. Catching me looking at him, though, he reached out and gave my cheek an affectionate little pinch, “Hey, Gorgeous.”

I laughed, just once, in spite of myself, at what a sight we made. “Hi, Handsome.”

He beamed.

Yes, this city had warped me. But once we were inside my apartment without incident, the city was left outside. He put on a 10cc album, “I’m Not in Love” filling the apartment. Peeling off every last bit of our bloody clothing and turning on the shower to fill the bathroom with steam, together we stepped under the water and let it wash the evidence away.

It was mesmerizing, the way it just disappeared, I thought. I’d expected there to be more anxiety, but no; through the grate at our feet it vanished, like nothing had ever happened. And when I looked up to find his soaking wet smile and those eyes the color of melted ice burning into me, I forgot everything else. 

He looked at me like it was the first time he was seeing me; I was afraid that I’d touch him and find out it was all a dream. When I placed my hand on his chest, his breath caught in his throat. Even a soft touch, he was unaccustomed to. It was like starting over. 

But as I explored his body, he found his courage and ghosted his bloody hands over my hips as if I were made of glass. I shivered under his fingertips and admired this new Arthur.

He looked healthier, less gaunt. The medicine that had been keeping him sane also robbed him of his appetite and turned him into a shadow of himself. Now that he’d been off it for a while his face had filled out, along with his chest and ribs. It made me want to feel all of him, all at once. 

When I turned to grab the soap, I took a moment to relax back into him, pulling his arms around me. With my head resting back against his shoulder, he sighed and squeezed me tight against him. 

“You’re back?” I murmured into the crook of his neck. 

He just hummed, a low rumble against my back, “For now.” I could hear the smile in his voice. It sent shivers down my side.

Taking the soap from my hand, he worked it into a lather and washed the rest of the blood from my face and hair. As we traded places so I could rinse off, he murmured just over the sound of the running water, “I’m sorry I ruined your jacket.” 

I laughed and wiped the water from my eyes, feeling cleaner already. “It’s okay, it was an old jacket.”

He followed my lead and lathered up. “I want to get you a new one,” he offered helpfully. 

I gently scrubbed the blood from his neck, around and behind his ears. “That would be nice, actually.”

He smiled at this new project. I briefly thought about asking him where he went when he wasn’t around, but decided against it. If he wanted me to know, I’d know. Besides, plausible deniability had its uses.

His smile turned hungry as my hands lingered on his chest and slid around his ribs to his back. There was that need again. I felt it in my core. It wouldn’t be ignored this time.

Soon we were dry and between the sheets, together again after so many weeks apart. But this wasn’t the same Arthur who joined me in this bed weeks ago. This man was more self-assured, confident. It felt good to let him lead the way while I traced his curves and hollows with my fingertips. It felt even better when he did the same to me with his lips. 

And the sound of him saying my name over and over. God, it was so sweet. I sighed against his shoulder as we found each other once again… and again and again, until we could no longer keep our eyes open. 

When I opened them some hours later, the sun was out and the bed was empty next to me. He didn’t even stay for coffee, I thought with a frown.

But he did promise me a new coat.


	10. "Whiter Shade of Pale"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween is here, which gives Arthur and Jessica a chance to try out their new normal - if only for a bit.

“Trick or treat!”

A tiny cat, a little cowboy and their older brother dressed as a clown all stood at my door with their pillowcases open. I giggled and oohed and aahed over their costumes while handing out candy, and waved as they left to knock on the next door. The clown gave me a wave as I turned; maybe he was one of the rioters I’d seen in the streets. The thought made me smile.

Back in the apartment, I straightened my witch’s hat and turned the music up as I picked my wine glass up; “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles, of course. 

Before I could finish the glass, the doorbell rang again. I grabbed the bowl once more and called out over the music, “Be right there!” I danced to the door and opened it with a smile - and found a grown man dressed as a doctor, with a surgical mask covering most of his face.

“Oh, a grownup trick or treater, that’s fun,” I said with a raised eyebrow, digging into the bowl. 

“Trick or treat?” he said as he took the mask off - and I came face to face with Arthur. 

Stifling a happy shout, I fumbled the bowl of candy and grabbed his arm to drag him into the apartment and slammed the door behind him as he laughed with me. 

“What are you doing?? They’ll see you!” I whispered in surprise as I pushed him tipsily up against the closed door. 

His giggles only pushed me further - I dug my hand into his ribs and tickled, “Oh you think this is funny?”

He nodded, “Yeah.” But before I could react, he reached under me and lifted in one motion, hoisting me up into his arms easily so that I could wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. 

Looking into his hungry eyes from my new vantage point, I tucked one lock of hair under the surgeon’s cap he wore. “I’m taking you on a date,” he said, matter-of-factly.

My eyebrows flew up, “Oh? Just like that?”

He nodded, that sly grin making me want to cover his face with kisses. 

“Arthur Fleck, the most wanted man in Gotham, going on a date?” 

He put me down gently and pulled his mask up. “Arthur who?”

I laughed out loud at his boldness, then reached up to tug the mask down and give him a small kiss. “How am I supposed to kiss you, Arthur Who?”

The wheels turned in his head, and suddenly he hoisted me up into his arms once more and marched into the bedroom with me. Our date had apparently already started.

And the trick or treaters were just going to have to wait.  
-  
After we’d gotten back into our costumes a while later, I dropped the bowl of candy on the doormat and we headed out to the darkest, smokiest bar we could find.

The crowd was thick with strangers in costumes; most of them were clowns, unsurprisingly. They were also mostly drunk already, so it was easy to disappear into the throng and find a table for two in the back corner of the bar away from prying eyes. 

His mask stayed on - he sipped his rum and cokes through a straw under the mask and made me laugh at his creativity - but we had a wonderful time, talking and laughing like we did on our first date to the coffee shop all those weeks ago. Hours ticked by and I wished the night would never end.

Looking into his bright eyes over the flickering candle on our table, it was almost easy to forget the reality that existed just on the other side of the sunrise. 

“A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum started on the jukebox and caused my emotions to smolder. 

Here he was, the man behind Gotham’s revolution, in this bar and entirely mine. A literal Clown Prince, as the media had dubbed him. The thought made me dizzy. But he was still my Arthur, just... made of steel. His whole demeanor had changed, for the better. It was like his whole life he had been waiting to become the person he was now. And I told him as much.

“I’m glad I met you when I did,” I said over the rim of my wine glass. I was nearly a whole bottle into my night and fully satisfied after the start of our date, so the truth was flowing freely.

He leaned in, “Funny you say that, because I thought the same thing.”

I lifted an eyebrow and he continued, “You helped me realize... that I wasn’t alone. And that I could be better. You made me want to be... better.”

In that moment I hated that I couldn’t see his whole face. “Can we go back to my place now so we don’t have to hide?”

Wordlessly, he stood and held his hand out, I accepted it. But instead of leaving, he wove us through the crowd and onto the dance floor where odd couples had paired off and slow danced in little drunken circles. The sheriff and the pony, the cat and the mouse, and us - the doctor and the witch.

“The room was humming harder, as the ceiling flew away,” the singer crooned as I draped my arms over his shoulders, “When we called out for another drink, the waiter brought a tray.”

In lazy circles we swayed to the music, his eyes on mine. His frustrating way of changing the subject and evading the truth about how he’d likely disappear in a few hours... it weighed on me. But normal wasn’t where we operated anymore, not after what we’d been through. My definition of normal changed every day, it seemed.

“And so it was that later, as the miller told his tale, that her face, at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale....”

So instead of pressing the issue, I simply enjoyed the time I had with him. The more we spun, the happier I got, and his smile behind the surgical mask grew wider so I could see it in his eyes. The crowd around us seemed to disappear until all there was left was us, twirling in slow circles while the music filled the room.

Just being around him, I felt invincible. And while I knew I was tipsy, it wasn’t the wine; this was just how I operated now. With him by my side, nothing could go wrong. 

Sure, the path to okay was ugly at times, but just like I had helped him evolve into a better version of himself, he’d done the same for me. And “better” was another word like “normal”. Its definition had changed with our circumstances. But we were miles from where we’d been when we met, and there was no looking back. 

The song faded into a louder rock song to get the crowd riled up, but we stayed where we were. And right in front of everyone, he pulled the mask down and kissed me. One or two prying sets of eyes landed on us, but we still felt like the only two in the room.

Until a shout from behind me broke the spell:

“Fuckin’ pigs!”

The crowd surged back at us from the front of the bar as a handful of cops entered with batons drawn. “Where is he?” they shouted and spread out as the crowd pushed back, searching for someone.

I didn’t have to guess who.

When I turned back, he was still smiling as he glanced at the people around us and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go,” he said simply.

And we did. Never turning our backs to them, we moved backwards through the crowd and all but disappeared. Through the kitchen he led me; he waved at the cook as we darted past and out into the empty back alley. 

Flashing lights startled us from the left, where a cop car sat at the end of the street, unmanned. To the right of us was a clear shot to the street that would take us home. 

He looked both ways and pulled his mask down, the exhilaration plain on his face. Instead of being terrified of him being caught, it excited me. 

“Normal” really was left in the dust, I laughed as he shrugged. 

“Guess date night’s over,” he said. 

Before I could protest, he pulled me in for a sweet kiss. It was never going to be easy with him, but it was going to be exciting. 

When he pulled away, he winked, “Get home safe, Gorgeous.”

And with that, he turned and ran left, towards the police car. I shouted after him with a grin, “You too, Handsome!”

His arm shot up in a wave as he sprinted, and I just barely heard him shout over his shoulder, “I will! And I still owe you that new coat!”

I shook my head to myself and turned right, walking calmly away from the noise inside the bar, just as the crowd spilled out the back. A few people took off running towards the police car just as Arthur had done and the rest of the mob surged after them. 

Yes, I thought - date night was over, but Arthur’s night was just getting started. Better get home before it gets too crazy out here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this version of the character is firmly in the new film Joker universe, I drew on the image of Harley and the Joker dancing together in costume, perfectly alone and enamored with each other, from Suicide Squad, for the slow dancing scene in this chapter. Jessica is not going to be a Harley at all, but the image was just so striking and they’re just so wrapped up in each other in that moment that I couldn’t get it out of my head while I wrote.


	11. "The Man on the Flying Trapeze"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reality of their new normal weighs heavily on Arthur and Jessica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was listening to some old Eddie Cantor records and found his version of "The Man on the Flying Trapeze" - it made me think of what Jessica must go through watching the news of Arthur and his new disciples, hence the title of this chapter.

“Copycat Murders Have Police Stumped”

“Clowns Abound”

“No Laughing Matter”

The headlines shouted from the newsstand as I walked by, head down against the rain, hands deep in my pockets.

Since Arthur became this figurehead for the unseen people of Gotham, the riots and the violence only got worse. A new murder every week, every suspect - reportedly - disguised as a clown. 

I felt a certain measure of pride, knowing that Arthur had started it all. Every time I’d pass a newsstand or a pack of kids running around in clown masks, I held that secret like a stone in my palm, warm and heavy.

But his recognizable face restricted our visits to my apartment and back alleys after dark, and he could never stay in one place for too long. Each time he reluctantly left me, I longed for a little more of that “normal” we had said goodbye to all those weeks ago. And despite his joy in causing all that chaos, I could see it wearing on him too.

And while he didn’t pay much attention to the danger he was in - he seemed to lack the fear of the future that I sometimes felt tugging at my stomach after hearing about his latest adventure - I felt it. Seeing painted white faces and red smiles plastered on the front page every other day made me increasingly uneasy. Every time I found him waiting for me in the alley behind my job, the relief in my chest ached. The idea of him having a target on his back was a heavy burden to bear. 

One day the face on the front page would be his and he’d be gone again, back to Arkham, this time for good. Or worse, to the electric chair. Even if he managed to stay out of prison, some close calls had made my heart stop when I heard about them on the news: one man dressed as a clown had electrocuted himself when he tried to break into a bank that had been wired with a 10,000 volt security system, another had been shot by someone he tried to mug. 

Those thoughts I’d had back when he stood atop that car that night - run away with him, leave, it can’t be any worse than where you’re at now - they floated to the top of my brain every time a clown ended up in the news. Would it be so impossible to just pack up and leave? Could I convince him to leave with me? Where would we go that he wouldn’t be recognized? 

Questions gave way to more questions and only made my stomach churn as I tried to fall asleep one night after the news reported another clown death - this time in a shootout with the police on a subway platform. 

My dreams that night were fitful - out on the street, Arthur was walking just ahead of me but he wouldn’t turn around. But no matter how hard I tried to scream to get his attention, no sound would come out of my mouth. He’d glance back with that self-satisfied smile, then turn and keep walking, right onto a subway car whose doors slammed in my face. He stood on the other side of the glass, smoking, as a police officer made his way towards him from the far side of the car, gun pointed right at him. I could see him; Arthur couldn’t. I banged on the door, screaming without sound, trying to warn him, but he wouldn’t turn.

The banging was insistent, breaking through the surface of my dream like an oncoming train: distant at first, then altogether unbearably loud.

I shot up in bed, momentarily confused - it wasn’t my banging in my dream, it was happening in real life. And it wasn’t coming from the door, either... I followed the noise to the window and found Arthur there, slumped on the fire escape and pounding with one hand, now weakly. 

I shouted in surprise and opened the window, ushered him in. He was hurt: blood streamed from a wound on his shoulder. “Shit, what-“ I only had time to ask before he cut me off.

“Occupational hazard,” he wheezed. He was trying to stay stoic, but I could tell it was bad.

“Okay, come on,” I led him to the bathroom and helped him out of his clothes, washed the blood off of him for the second time in weeks. This time it was the opposite of sensual.

He winced as I cleaned the wound gently, but I was relieved to find that it wasn’t so deep. “You might not need stitches,” I reasoned, handing him a mirror while I continued to clean. It looked like a bullet graze. Had he been involved in that subway shootout I’d had the nightmare about? 

He sucked in air through his teeth, “Yeah. Lucky break.”

The gravity of it hit me as I doctored him up: he could be killed. The cops were no longer out to capture. They were shooting to kill.

I did what I could with the bandages I had on hand, but knew he’d need some more supplies from the drugstore in the morning. When I finished, he sat on the bed and cradled his injured arm.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or do I just have to take your word that it won’t happen again?” I asked.

He read my expression guiltily. “I can’t promise that.”

I sat across from him. “Arthur, please...” I reached for his good hand and slipped my fingers through his. 

He looked at our hands and smiled. “See how perfect that looks?”

I looked down, “What?”

“Our hands,” he said as he held my hand up with his, our fingers intertwined. “Together they make art.”

I sighed and leveled my eyes with his. I could wait for him. He put my hand down and looked at them on the bed together. “I want to give you more,” he said quietly, unable to meet my gaze. 

“We’re not going to get more in Gotham. Let’s get out.”

He looked back up at me with soft eyes. I knew what he was about to say, so I said it for him. “I know. You started a fire and now you want to watch it burn.”

“The trick is knowing when to walk away so it doesn’t burn me too.”

This caught my attention and my brow crumpled slightly; he had been thinking about leaving. I moved closer to him to stroke a curl from his forehead. “You’ve done all you can for this city.”

“You think so?” He looked hopeful.

“Yes. What you’ve started... it can’t be stopped.”

“They want it to stop,” he smiled to himself. He was proud of what he’d done. 

I let him have his moment. But just one. “Yeah, so badly that they’d kill you without thinking twice.“

He looked at our hands, soaking in my words. I had a point that he’d already seen, but didn’t want to admit.

I tried a different approach. “You want to give me more, but did you ever ask me what I actually want?” I asked, quietly with a sly smile.

I had him there. He looked up and shook his head with an interested smile. “What do you want?”

“You.”

It wasn’t what he expected. To my surprise, his face fell. He’d been working on chaos. He started out by sending a message to the people who ignored him but ended up broadcasting it to an entire city full of ignored people. It had spread into something beyond himself, but giving me something as simple as himself never occurred to him. 

“You deserve more than that.” he said, trying to justify his own narrative. In his head it made sense, wanting to right all the wrongs. But when he looked into my eyes and saw the pain, he realized his narrative was wrong. The normal we had, it couldn’t last. 

“I don’t want more. I just want you. And me,” I said quietly, keeping the tears at bay. “Not randomly, not for a few hours at a time, not banging on my fire escape in the middle of the night with a gunshot wound.” I smiled at him. He returned the grin but it turned into a grimace. 

He was pained. The corners of his mouth turned down and he fought his emotions. “I’ll make you hate me. You’ll throw me away too.”

This was new. “What?”

He avoided my eyes and hugged his injured arm tighter, and suddenly he was the old Arthur again, the one from the diner, sitting right there on my bed. “My father, my therapist, my job… I’m too much. They got tired of me, and threw me away. You’ll do it too, eventually.”

As he spoke, I heard the slight tremors in his voice that would give way to a laughter attack if he couldn’t keep them in check. I shifted so I was directly in front of him and he couldn’t avoid my eyes. He met my gaze unsteadily, nervous and insecure. 

“Fuck them.”

His lip twitched into a small smile for a split second. He glanced away and back at me again. Oh, those eyes. They never failed to make my heart thump against my ribs like a bird in a cage. 

“I’ll never throw you away. One look from you makes me feel like anything is possible. Why would I throw that away?” I asked, seriously.

His eyes warmed at my confession, but he still looked broken. I knew then that it was my turn to comfort him, after he’d done so for me so many times before.

Sitting back in the pillows, I pulled him close so that his injured shoulder stayed untouched, arm wrapped around my middle while he rested his head on my chest. He sighed into me, shoulders sagging so that his weight melted into me. It had been days since I’d last seen him; he must have been exhausted. I buried my nose in his hair and breathed him in. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he confessed that he had fallen for me… and here we were. If his insecurities were rearing their ugly heads, there was only one way to quiet them. 

I tucked his hair back and rested my lips against the shell of his ear: 

“I love you.”

At this, he looked up at me, his voice a whisper. “What?”

I didn’t care. I’d say it as many times it took to get through to him. “I love you. Have for a long time. From the first time you kissed me, right there in that doorway.”

His brows knitted. Though he replied with a smile - “I love you too,” - he looked like he might cry. It broke my heart. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

His eyes searched my face. “Thousands of people in this city, and you’re the only one who really sees me, aren’t you?”

I smiled, “Right through you.”

He smiled now, the pain in his eyes giving way to relief and tenderness. Resting his head back down on my chest once more, he sighed. “And it doesn’t scare you.” It wasn’t a question as much as a statement of fact.

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see it. “No. It’s like looking in a mirror, seeing everything I want to be.”

He squeezed my waist weakly, his shoulder limiting his movement. He was quiet for a bit, his breathing evening out and getting heavy. If he was going to fall asleep, I thought, good. Let him sleep here for a change, when I never knew where he was most nights. He hummed, just once, in his sleep; a broken sound that sent a wave of emotion for him through me. I felt so protective of him suddenly. 

After a few more minutes it was clear he was completely asleep, so I reached behind me to pull the blankets up over us and closed my eyes. Maybe he’d still be there in the morning, maybe he wouldn’t. But he was there in that moment. So I held it, just like every other moment with him, like I would a butterfly; afraid to hold it too tight but dreading the moment it flits away and leaves me.

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of butterflies.


	12. "Nights in White Satin"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gifts Jessica more than just the coat he promised her all those nights ago - and she puts her new gifts to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some graphic violence and slight non-con touching.

The package was huge - so big it took up my whole kitchen table. It was the first thing I saw when I walked in from grocery shopping. Putting the bag down on the counter, I picked up the card:

For my Gorgeous  
-A

I shook my head and smiled - of course he broke in to deliver the coat he said he was going to get me after ruining my old one when he cleaned up after a particularly messy night.

But once I opened the package, whatever scolding I was going to give him for breaking in vanished from my mind, replaced instead with shock: he’d not only gotten the new jacket he’d promised, but a handful of other gifts, too. 

Under a gorgeous brown leather jacket, I found a body-skimming red dress and a pair of high heels to match, all from designer labels. I knew without asking that they’d probably been stolen. The fact that the dress matched his favorite red suit only made me love everything even more. 

I tried on the jacket and stepped in front of the mirror to admire my new gift. Rich, buttery soft leather, it hung just to my knees and belted at the waist. As I slipped my hands into the pockets, though, I found a shock in one of them: a heavy silver gun with a red ribbon tied in a bow around the barrel. 

It took my breath away. After the initial shock, I thought I’d be afraid holding it, but instead I just felt strong. It was a simple device, easy to figure out. I checked the chamber and found it fully loaded. I aimed it at no one, squinted behind the sight and pretended to line up my victim. A smile crept up on my face at the powerful feeling it gave me. 

He must have taken my words to heart when I’d told him I saw everything I wanted to be in him. He'd given me the power. Now it was up to me to do something and use it.  
-  
I leaned against the bar table in my new dress and heels and jacket, rocking back and forth slowly to the music and treating myself to a night out for a change. The wine settled in my limbs and I smiled to myself knowing that my new gift sat heavy in my pocket. I'd carried it around with me for nearly a week now, and it made me feel safe and content. Until...

“No shit! Jessica?”

I spun around and came face to face with the last person I wanted to see: my old boss from the diner. The one who’d fired me after I punched him in the jaw. He leered at me like I were a piece of meat.

Ah. He was horny and drunk, clearly, and had been both for most of the night, judging by his lingering eyes and his slurring. “Jesus, look at you... you look good. Great, actually.”

His voice was smooth, just like it used to be when he would coerce me into doing... things I didn’t want to, just to keep my job. He used to promise all kinds of things, not just my job. But none of those promises ever came true.

I gave him my best flirty smile. Might as well let him think he was still getting his way, even though I’d rather put my fist through his face.

“Thank you.”

He jutted his chin to the bar, “Can I get you a drink?”

I nodded demurely, “Sure.”

He gave his own nod and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me at the table.

The idea of having to be nice to him made my stomach turn, but I kept the act up when he came back with our drinks and continued his patter. 

“You know, I wanted to apologize,” he began, leaning in too close with his disgusting breath. 

I leaned back and pretended to drink - he was too drunk to notice - and acted some more. “Oh please, I was out of line. I should apologize to you.”

He smiled and took a long belt of his beer, pleased that the conversation was going his way. “Well, uh... you know, you can... apologize now.” His eyebrows wagged suggestively and he licked his lips; he didn’t want to hear “I’m sorry”. He wanted something else. 

My stomach clenched as I pretended to sip at my drink once more. I forced a shy smile and blushed. “Here?” I looked around.

He laughed, “Maybe! Or if you want, you come back to my place?” He finished his beer alarmingly fast and I held my still full glass down at my side. 

I had a decision to make. I stalled and held up a finger, then pointed to his empty bottle. “Another?” 

He nodded with a half-frustrated laugh, “Sure!” 

I nodded with flirty grin, but as I passed by him, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. I fought the urge to struggle and cringed as he slipped his other hand up my thigh, under the hem of my skirt and up to the back of my ass. I glanced around faux-nervously to hide my disgust, and he tugged my chin close to him to slur in my face: “Hurry back, sexy.”

I gave him my best fake smile and wrenched myself from his grasp to make my way to the bar. The blood boiled in my veins. I could breathe fire. “Nights in White Satin” drifted from the jukebox as I took a few deep breaths and waited for our next round, when suddenly I knew what to do. 

He was the last remaining piece of my past; a walking reminder of the mistakes I’d made. I let him do the horrible things he’d done to me, over and over again... for what? For a shitty job at a shitty diner? For money? Because I thought I couldn’t do better? And he got to walk around this city thinking he was the better person, that he could get whatever he wanted just because he was a man with a little money?

This was my chance, to finally do what Arthur had shown me was possible. He was everything I wanted to be: fearless about the consequences of his actions, but brave enough to hold people accountable for theirs.

When I returned with our drinks, I put them down but didn’t let go. He paused as I leaned over and murmured, “Do you want to take these to go?” with a wink.

His eyes went wide and he stood almost in a trance, “Fuck yeah.”

I gave him a glance over my shoulder as I walked away and he followed me out the back of the bar, into the alley where the music could still be heard.

The singer crooned, “Gazing at people, some hand in hand. Just what I'm going through, they can't understand...”

I turned and faced him, gave him a smile that said go for it - and he did. 

“Some try to tell me, thoughts they cannot defend. Just what you want to be, you will be in the end.”

With a surge of strength that surprised me for how drunk he was, he shoved me against the wall.

“And I love you...”

I gritted my teeth against his touch as he fumbled for his belt. The music swelled as I reached into my pocket slowly. His breath stank of stale beer. The gun was solid, cool in my hand. I slipped it out as he listed to one side drunkenly and righted himself with a giggle. 

“Yes I love you, oh how I love you....”

Tucking my arm back to help him stand straighter, I leveled the gun at him between us while we locked eyes. I smiled and he grinned drunkenly back, then - BAM - a single drum beat as I pulled the trigger, his eyes going wide as he realized what had happened.

Lightness. An indescribable lightness filled my chest, making me gasp for a deep breath to fill the new space. He fell to the ground before me, dying, as I slipped the gun back into my pocket, warm and solid. The crowd inside the bar was none the wiser; the music was so loud and the streets were so crime-ridden that one gunshot could have been anything. 

My breath caught as I watched the pool of blood spread at my feet; I was exhilarated. It really was that simple, I smiled to myself - just like Arthur had said.

Stepping away from the mess, I took one last look back at him, almost curious. It was fascinating. One second he was there, saying filthy words and doing vile things to me and who knows who else - the next, he didn’t exist. So simple. Elegant, even.

The gun heavy in my pocket, I smiled to myself before walking away, down the alley and back into the flow of foot traffic on the boulevard. The world kept on spinning. The crowds were just as boisterous, if not more. Packs of clowns roamed the street, but I was invincible. The music still played in my head: 

“Beauty I've always missed with these eyes before. Just what the truth is, I can't say any more...”

I couldn’t stop an ecstatic laugh from bursting from my throat as I picked up my speed. I had conquered the last ghost of my past, and felt changed.

Arthur would be so proud.

“Cause I love you. Yes I love you, ohh how I love you....”

Of course my mind wandered to him. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do that without him. Unable to contain my happiness now, I took off running through the crowd, up the hill to my apartment.

After I burst through the door, I couldn’t help it - I danced to the music that still played in my head, the melody filling my heart so that I had no choice but to move and leap and spin. Finally the desire to dance had returned, and it consumed me. Twirling for no one, I smiled from ear to ear as I pictured the future now; it was completely and utterly clear. Just like Arthur had done all he could for this city, I’d now done everything I was meant to do. It was a freeing, incredible feeling. 

I slept like a baby that night.


	13. “Everybody Plays the Fool”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jessica's turn to get Arthur a gift.

The next day felt like the first day of a new life. The world seemed brighter, my lungs felt clearer - I felt physically lighter as I moved through the city. At one point, I passed a newsstand and stopped when a headline caught my eye:

“Business Owner Gunned Down By A Clown”

Picking up the paper, I opened it up to see the rest of the story and there was a photo of my former boss, in black and white, surrounded by a story memorializing this fine upstanding citizen after he’d been found gunned down by another clown, as witnesses said. Of course they’d blame it on a clown - clowns were easy targets, and there were plenty of them. And it only served to keep the tensions going.

I laughed out loud as I read - a sound that exploded from my throat and startled the newsstand owner - and quickly covered my mouth. I found the owner staring at me and excused myself, fishing money from my pocket. “Sorry, here-“ I tossed the quarter on the counter and took the paper with me. I had never considered being under suspicion for the murder, but seeing that the cops had pinned the crime on a nonexistent clown had me feeling pretty invincible. 

I still hadn’t seen Arthur in a few days, but a question popped into my head one day as I waited for the elevator before work and looked down the hall towards 8J like I always did: What did they do to his apartment? Or rather, was there anything left there for me to salvage for him as a gift? I was certain the police had scoured the apartment after his visit to the Murray Franklin Show, but what did they leave behind?

I was going to find out.

That night when I got home at nearly 3am, I went left instead of right and headed straight for his door. The switchblade I carried in my purse came in handy to slit the crime scene tape sealing the door, and to my surprise the door was unlocked too; another bang-up job by the Gotham PD, I smirked to myself as I slipped into the pitch dark apartment and closed the door behind me.

The first thing that hit me was the smell: rotten food and something unplaceable. The layout looked to be the same as my own apartment, just a mirror image. Not wanting to draw too much attention to myself, I left the light off but moved instead to where I saw the outline of a hall lamp and flicked it on.

Instantly I was left breathless by the sight: a spray of dark brown dried blood on the wall near the door and a pool on the floor had been haphazardly mopped up by crime scene cleaners, leaving a disturbing trail of filth. That was the smell, I realized; old blood that had seeped into the floorboards and sat for weeks.

Breathing through my mouth and moving past what had to be evidence of one of his first murders after the incident on the subway, I made my way into what looked to be his room. The sight of the vanity, his face paint still spread all over with crime scene evidence markers scattered everywhere made me feel suddenly very sad for him; this couldn’t be where he lived. 

My eyes moved over everything quickly, searching for something that I could surprise him with, when I spotted his jacket - the brown one with the hood that he lived in, before everything happened. It sat on the vanity chair, where I picked it up from and felt its weight in my hands. Something about it felt so familiar and made me happy. I smiled as I brought it to my nose and breathed in his scent, still embedded in it. 

The elevator bell dinged out in the hallway and startled me; then the sound of police radios caused a flush of heat to roll through me. 

I had just enough time to slip my arms into the jacket without thinking, then turned the light off and walked out the door as if nothing were wrong. Hopefully they were dumb cops who wouldn’t notice the door I’d just walked out of.

“Hey!”

They weren’t dumb cops.

I looked up as I made my way past them on the way to the elevator, played dumb. “What?”

“What the fuck were you doing in there, that’s a crime scene.”

The one who remained silent reached for my arm and I tried to slip out of his meaty grip, looking put out. “Get off, I was just in there looking for my money. That asshole clown owes me $500.”

Silent Man and the Talker exchanged looks that said they didn’t know what to make of me; I didn’t look like a threat, that was for sure. And of course they thought he’d be the type to owe money all over town, Talker half-shrugged and Silent Man took a step back, releasing my arm. 

“Take it up in civil court. That tape is there for a reason.”

I gave my best annoyed eye roll and sauntered past them with a “Yeah, whatever,” and stepped into the elevator, backing against the wall.

As soon as the doors shut, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. On shaking knees, I walked out onto the street and took a lap to get away from the building for a while - if I returned and they found where I lived, my apartment would no longer be a safe place for us to meet. The future wasn’t as clear as I’d thought. With the police sniffing around our building more and more lately, something was going to have to give.


	14. “Les Fleurs”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica reveals that she and Arthur have more in common than she previously let on, paving the way for a clearer future for the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Past trauma, including rape, assault, and death is brought up in general terms.

The next day I was off from work, so I picked up dinner and made my way back home early because the crowds in the streets were getting ready to protest a police benefit being held at city hall later that evening. As I got off of the elevator and turned towards my door, I heard a familiar voice behind me: 

“I am so proud of you.”

I spun on high alert, and found Arthur leaning against his own door down the hall; he’d been waiting for me.

My whole body went warm at the sight of him. I broke into a big smile and practically jumped into his arms before ushering him into my apartment. Inside, he reached into his pocket for a crumpled newspaper clipping. “This is beautiful,” he said, pointing to the photo of my ex-boss on the front page. 

I laughed and felt his approval from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, warm and delicious. “You gave me a gift, I had to use it,” I shrugged. It made me remember I had something for him. 

“Oh, I almost forgot-“ I said as I disappeared into my bedroom to grab his jacket and hid it behind my back. “Close your eyes.”

When I handed it to him and he opened his eyes, they lit up. 

“I got you a gift too,” I smiled.

He ran his hands over it and looked back up at me, searching my face, “How-?”

I shrugged, “I snuck in after work one night. Cops spotted me leaving and I told them you owed me money, that’s what I was looking for in your apartment. I’m sorry, they’ll probably have more eyes on it now but I didn’t know what else to grab for you…”

He shook his head and cut me off, “This is- thank you. You-“ 

I’d done good. 

With the mobs of people outside, the odds of cops swarming around our building now were low, so we split dinner and relaxed in my apartment for a change. After dinner, he folded a load of my laundry while I sat at the table near the window, reading the paper. “Is That All There Is” by Peggy Lee played quietly on my stereo as the the blue light of the kitchen against the orange streetlights outside created a halo around his head.

He turned to me, a thought crossing his mind that had to get out: “I want to see your hair in the sun.”

I looked up and smiled at him. “Where are we going to find the sun this time of year?” I asked, playfully. November was a brutal time in Gotham, gray skies and colder temperatures every day. He shrugged.

“I don’t know, maybe we’ll find it someplace better,” he looked back down at the laundry basket. My heart skipped a beat at the idea of getting out - was that what he was playing at? 

I let my mind wander as he worked. He looked so natural standing at the kitchen counter folding my clothes; I couldn’t help but beam at him. For just a moment I pictured him there, making us breakfast with the sun shining behind him, a mug of coffee next to me as I sat in a bathrobe and slippers, just like any other couple on a lazy Sunday morning. 

The noise of the city below us grew louder and broke through my daydream - the mob was gathering supporters on our street as it made its way to city hall a half mile downtown, their chants carrying on the wind. I stood to see what was going on and he put down what he was folding to join me. His eyes sparkled as he took in the chaos from eight stories up. He reminded me of an artist or a director, watching his creation with pride from the wings as it made its mark on those who admired it. 

I felt so close to him in that moment; my chest ached with all the things I wanted to say to him. That I loved him, yes, we knew that. But there was something else…

“I was in Arkham once. When I was 18.”

The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them; like they were being spoken by someone else. I’d never spoken about it, not to anyone. It was a secret I had planned to take to my grave. But it was the last secret between us, and I couldn’t keep it from him any longer.

His face turned tender. He stepped away from the window to give me his full attention. “Why?”

This was the part I hated. “My stepfather,” I started to explain, but stopped. He took a step closer to me. I wrestled with my thoughts, restarted. 

“When I was 14, I was assaulted by a boy on the bus. He broke my jaw, had his way with me, beat me, and left me for dead. When I told my stepdad about it, instead of helping me, he... blamed me. Told me I deserved it. He’d been a creep for years but this like, have him permission to let it out. Because he started coming into my bedroom at night and telling me he’d poison my mom and my little brother if I told them. Every night. For four years.”

His face had turned into a mask of anger. But I felt lighter with every sentence. “I tried telling people. My teachers, the police... no one believed me. And one day I got sick of it. So before he could hurt them too, I hurt him. Some antifreeze in his beer one night and he was gone, problem solved.”

At this, Arthur’s eyes lit up. A spark of joy for me over realizing what needed to be done and doing it, no hesitation. 

The corner of my mouth twitched into a smile but faded as I remembered the ending to my story. “But instead of jail, my mother had me committed for it. Said I was delusional. I almost believed her some nights when they shut off the lights and the crazy came out in Arkham. I was there for 4 years, until my mom...” 

This was the part I hated. My eyes filled with tears. His face fell. 

“Mom owed money to the wrong people and got herself killed for it one day. But they killed my brother too. Just went in shooting.” The memory of learning about his death while I was locked up, the agony over thinking that I could have done something, it all washed over me too quickly. Tears blurred my vision. 

Randomly I recalled the feeling of his little hands wrapped around my shoulders when he’d ask me to parade him around the apartment on my back, and a sob escaped my throat. 

Arthur watched, his own chin crinkling with emotion. I sat down heavily in the kitchen chair and wiped my eyes on the back of my hand, “They cleared me after that. Released me back into the wild with no place to call home. So I bounced around for a while, stayed with an aunt in Metropolis for a year or so, then came back to Gotham, found the job at the diner and here I am.”

Moving slowly, he surprised me by kneeling before me, sympathetic eyes never moving from mine. I was fascinated by him; every move he made was unpredictable but had meaning. A tear rolled down my cheek before he caught it with his thumb. “It was scary there, at night, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly. We had more in common than ever before now. 

I nodded. 

He tucked some hair behind my ear and moved so that he could rest his head in my lap. It was strangely calming, running my fingers through his hair and watching the rain drip down the window nearby, the roar of the crowd outside growing softer as they disappeared into the distance.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

“It’s okay.” I traced his jawline with my fingertips softly, tangled my fingers in his hair. 

“I wish I could have known you then,” he smiled to himself at the thought. 

“High school me? No. You don’t.” We laughed lightly. It would have been strange, for sure. 

“Besides, what happened to get us here, it doesn’t matter anymore,” I said. “I think we met just at the right time in our lives.”

At this, he sat back on his heels and looked at me, his head tilted to one side. The corner of his lip quirked into a thoughtful smile. “How do you do that?” he asked, his eyes shining. 

I gave him a questioning look.

“How do you know just what to say to make everything feel right?”

I blushed. I could say the same thing about him. That warmth in my core at the sight of him just grew more with each moment we spent together. I shrugged. 

“Can I stay tonight?” He asked earnestly. Kneeling before me like that, his voice quiet and small, I was struck by his question.

“I want you to stay every night. And every day, Arthur. Don’t you know that?”

He looked sheepish. “I do. I just... like to hear it.”

I smiled - I could play that game. “Then I’ll tell you every night: I want you to spend the night, Arthur.” It made him blush. 

I stood, bringing him with me. “I want to see you every day, Arthur,” I said, ghosting my hands over his stomach and up his chest. His gaze turned hazy and unfocused at my touch. 

“I want to feel you, Arthur,” I murmured into his ear, my voice low. His breath caught and I watched his skin goosebump under my hands. 

“I want that too,” he sighed. 

So I led him to the bedroom where we both got what we wanted.  
-  
Later as we caught our breath and shared a cigarette, I lay on my back across the bed, my head on his stomach. “Les Fleurs” by Minnie Riperton played on the stereo. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

He said it so flippantly, as he threaded his fingers through my hair absentmindedly and draped it over his stomach. He had to be joking. 

I laughed lightly and looked up at him, “Right now?”

He closed his eyes in satisfaction. “Sure.”

I settled against his stomach again and smiled to myself. “Where are we going?”

He caressed my knee, “Where do you want to go?”

I took his hand from my leg and threaded my fingers through his, examining the scars on his hand. “Metropolis?” I mused, my head rising and falling with each of his breaths.

“That’s it? Think bigger.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I put his hand down across my stomach. “California?” I asked, playfully.

“Let’s go.”

I pretended to consider his offer. “Hmm.. I’ll have to go shopping first…”

At that, he tickled my ribs lightly. I giggled and squirmed under him, looked up at him with a smile. His eyes were full of tenderness. I settled back into his stomach and looked down at my nails. The silence between us was warm, content. But his seriousness gave me pause.

“I wish we could leave,” I said quietly, not wanting to break the spell.

He brushed his fingers through my hair once again, “I just told you, let’s go.”

Now I had to sit up to see his face. He simply smiled back at me from the pillow, glowing with happiness.

“Don’t...” I begged with my eyes. “Don’t joke about that.”

He sat up and joined me, “I’m not joking. What did I tell you from the beginning? I would never hurt you, and never-“

“Never lie to me,” I finished his sentence. 

“Never lie to you,” he repeated.

“We’re leaving?” I asked, the excitement rising in my chest.

He nodded. “Yeah. Wherever you want to go.”

My mind raced. Anywhere? I had a sudden vision of a beach, palm trees, blue sky and even bluer water, and Arthur in the sand beside me, smiling. “California?” I asked, my heart pounding.

He nodded, “Let’s go.”

It was too much. The idea of leaving, starting over, being truly normal… I threw myself into his arms with a happy squeal and he laughed. “I love you,” I murmured into his neck. 

He rocked me softly, stroking my hair. “I love you too.”

When we settled into the blankets for the night, we lulled each other to sleep by whispering about what we’d do out there in California. I saw us out there on that beach I’d never been to, sun dazzling us as we ran to the waterline. Cool water and foam tickling my ankles, his hand tight around mine and pulling me under the waves, breathing through each other while the light splintered through the water above our heads. Drying on the sand together, salt on our skin and stars in our eyes. 

We were finally getting out of Gotham, for good.


	15. “Heart of the Sunrise”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The great escape from Gotham is made.

I woke with a start sometime later - it was still dark out - and found an empty bed. How could he have left? My heart constricted at the thought. 

But when I turned to the window, I found him sitting on the sill, looking out at the quiet street and smoking. The orange glow of the streetlights illuminated his face and turned him into art.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sleep clouding my voice.

He turned and smiled softly, shook his head, “Nothing. Just couldn’t sleep.”

I settled on my side to face him. He looked back out the window and spoke so quietly, I could barely hear him. 

“You’re so brave,” he said, almost to himself.

I hummed a question - he didn’t turn.

“On the subway, I did what I did out of fear. At first. The... power came later. But you? You had that power right from the start.”

He turned with admiration in his eyes, “It’s beautiful.”

I was too exhausted to think straight. Rubbing my eyes, I murmured, “You’re beautiful.”

He smiled and took a final drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out. “My whole life,” he murmured as he crouched next to me, “I thought I was alone, and this was all there was to life. Me and this horrible city. But you,” he looked at me like I were made of glass. “You’re a whole world in one person. A galaxy.” 

His mind was incredible. “And I’m all yours,” I smiled sleepily.

He returned the smile and crawled under the blankets to cover me with his body, cold from sitting at the window. Pliable and soft with sleep, I brought the blankets back up around his shoulders and his skin goosebumped against mine. 

He smelled like a fresh shower and cigarettes. The muscles of his back moved under my hands as he buried his nose in the space between my neck and shoulder, kissing the skin there. I placed one kiss on his temple and let my lips linger; he hummed and took over every one of my senses. But it wasn’t enough.

I didn’t surrender so much as I melted into him as he took me over for the second time that night, this time slowly and languidly. My mind drifted to the sunshine we had just been whispering about before we fell asleep, and I smiled into his shoulder, in awe of my good fortune. To be owned entirely by this man, who looked at me like I was the sun, the moon and the stars; to imagine our future, and know it was starting so soon... Whatever I did to deserve this, I didn’t know.

He whispered my name once, twice, like a prayer. His urgency, the pleading look in his eyes, the sound of him coming undone above me, it sent me reeling for him. In a thousand different moments over a thousand different timelines, we would still find each other like this, I thought to myself as we fell back to sleep together. 

He was still there, sleeping heavily when I opened my eyes again in the morning. Another cold, gray day had dawned outside, but it was warm and soft in my bed, and knowing we’d be leaving this weather for blue skies soon made it easier to bear. 

Quietly I untangled myself from him and started packing, anxious to start our next chapter. What I thought would be bittersweet - emptying my closet, wrapping my few possessions in towels and tossing them in a suitcase - instead excited me. The prospect of starting over, starting fresh, it was something I never thought I’d get after living the life I had. It was almost too good to be true. 

But as he woke and found me happily buzzing around packing the last of my things, his smile was real enough to remind me that it was true, and it was happening. Today.

-

Down the side street and up the highway on-ramp we rolled, picking up speed as we traveled farther and farther from Gotham in the twilight. He smiled in the passenger seat; he didn’t have a license and we weren’t about to tempt fate by getting pulled over with him behind the wheel. But not being able to drive didn’t put a damper on his excitement.

I’d driven outside of city limits once or twice before, but never had much reason to make it a habit. Seeing signs for other cities 5 miles, 13 miles, 28 miles outside of Gotham - it was exhilarating. 

I glanced at him as we took the final turn onto the major westbound highway and gave him a small smile. This was it. Gotham was now in the rear view mirror, for good. We were on our way to start over. I glanced out the side mirror and saw the city lighting up for the night, in awe - from this distance it actually looked beautiful. But the promise of sunshine and the ocean right outside our door kept my foot on the gas, and onward we rolled.

Still, my fear of having it all snatched away with one cop car hovered right at the forefront of my mind. After an hour or two of driving west, I began drumming my fingers nervously on the gear shift between us, pretending to keep time with “Heart of the Sunrise” on the radio. He reached out to still my hand by covering it with his, and I glanced over at him with a sheepish smile. 

His eyes were calm. “It’s going to be okay,” he reassured me. And I believed him.

Through the night and much of the following day we traveled, promising ourselves our first hotel stop the next evening, at which point we’d be nearly 700 miles away: far enough from Gotham to not be recognized. I was lucky enough to have not been connected with him, so I had to do all of the snack shopping and gas pumping. He even waited in the car while I got our hotel room keys. But once we were in our hotel that first night, the reality of the situation hit us.

A storm rolled in from the east and gusts of rain shook the window as he stood at it, eating a slice of pizza we had ordered for dinner. 

“I thought we left Gotham for better weather,” he said with a laugh as he turned to me where I sat cross-legged on the bed.

His smile and his laugh now, they did something to me. They were genuine and not forced anymore; like he was a different person. My smile must have shown that I wasn’t thinking about what he said. He joined me. “What?”

I finished my slice. “Your laugh - it’s like music.”

He was struck by my words. “You think so?”

I nodded and moved the box to the second bed. “Well, then. Maybe I should sing, too-“

And with that, he took the chance to leap on top of me, bringing a squeal of laughter from me as he belted out a song and tickled my ribs: “It’s so important to make someone happy! Just one someone happy...!” 

I kicked and play wrestled him back as he continued to sing, the joy of being free from that horrible city filling his veins and threatening to burst from his fingertips. 

Before we could go any further, though, a bang through the wall from the people in the room next door told us that we were being too loud, so we laughed and shushed each other and settled back into the sheets for some more quiet fun. 

But not too quiet.


	16. “I Won’t Hurt You”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Jessica and Arthur’s adventures as they drive across the country.

Five days passed in a blur of highway lines and wide open sky, nameless motel parking lots and a new city every night. Endless miles we drove with the same mixtape playing on the car radio over and over again, charting a course on an old map we picked up at a convenience store outside of Gotham.

On day two, somewhere in southern Ohio, we coasted into the motel on fumes, grateful for the gas station across the highway. 

“Your mouth’s a constellation, the stars are in your eyes. I'll take a spaceship and try and go and find you.” sang the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band as we ate takeout on the floor and danced to music on the clock radio. After midnight, I fell asleep on his shoulder, the TV static painting us blue with its light. 

“I wont hurt you, I wont hurt you. I wont hurt you, I wont hurt you...” The way I caught him looking at me as we climbed back into the front seat the next day, that same corner of his mouth curling in a shy smile while a blush colored his cheeks; it did things to me. 

Day three found us in Missouri, where Nick Drake sang River Man from the tape deck.

“For when she thought of summer rain, calling for her mind again, she lost the pain, and stayed for more.”

When we knew we were alone, I let Arthur take the wheel for a few miles, laughing and screaming with him as he unsteadily swerved down a deserted stretch of highway at 35 miles per hour in the dead of night. 

“Going to see the river man, going to tell him all I can about the ban… on feeling free.”

Day four dawned rainy, the stretch of land between us and our next stop in Colorado seemingly endless and gray.

“I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel, you were talking so brave and so sweet...” Leonard Cohen crooned from the radio. “Giving me head on the unmade bed, while the limousines wait in the street.” 

If the day was long, the night was blissfully longer. After finding a motel tucked away off the main highway, we ignored the diner next door in favor of tangling ourselves up in bleached white sheets, the familiar refrain of motel neighbors banging on the ceiling and shouting at us through the walls to keep it down. 

“Those were the reasons and that was New York; we were running for the money and the flesh.” 

The next morning we slipped back onto the road and charged through to our final stop before California. Day five - the homestretch - brought us to Nevada where we continued the through desert and forest, rain and sun. 

“When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead, and the white knight is talking backwards and the red queen's off with her head…” Jefferson Airplane serenaded us as we drove. 

“This time tomorrow we’ll be in our new home,” he said, drumming along to the song on the dashboard in excitement. 

“With the ocean right outside?” I asked, turning into the hotel parking lot - a nice fancy one to celebrate our final night on the road. 

He nodded, “And palm trees.” 

“Remember what the dormouse said: feed your head, feed your head…”

-

“A toast. To nearly 3,000 miles.”

My smile shone over the rim of my wine glass as I held it up between us. He grabbed his own glass and clinked, his grin lighting up our table. 

“And in just a few hundred more we’ll be home,” he added. 

We decided to treat ourselves to dinner that night at the hotel bar, where “I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love With You” by Tom Waits played on the jukebox. It felt incredible being out in public together. Almost normal.

I couldn’t believe we’d done it; left everything behind in Gotham and took off for a new beginning. A part of me worried that things between us would change on the road, but if anything we’d grown closer.

As if he were a balloon waiting to be filled up with air before I met him, Arthur had expanded over the months we’d been together to become what he was always meant to be: sure of himself, caring… happy. And me? I finally felt like I had a home, wherever he was. It was a warm, content feeling, just being near him. 

While we ate, we talked about our favorite movies and planned a trip to see where they’d been filmed once we were settled in California. As we talked, I spotted the bartender staring at us from the corner of my eye and shifted uncomfortably. There was no way he could know who I was, I thought to myself. And besides, we were nearly 3,000 miles away from Gotham; there was no way Arthur was national news. Right? 

Still, it unsettled me to feel his eyes on me. My gut said we needed to get out of there, and fast. “Are you done?” I asked gently, looking at Arthur’s plate. He nodded - sure - and we made our way back to the room, slightly tipsy on wine but more drunk on the promise of what the next day held.

At one point he turned and walked backwards before me, smiling. “Last night in a hotel,” he said, wagging his eyebrows at me.

I laughed, ran ahead to catch him for a kiss. “How are we going to celebrate?”

He unlocked our door and let me in with a gentlemanly gesture, “Whatever we want.”

I took my cue and stopped him as soon as we made it in, locking the door behind us and pushing him backwards into the bed. His laugh turned into a needy whimper as we kissed and he tore at my dress; I got as far as unzipping his pants before he yanked off my panties and took me over with a broken shout of joy.

We moved together like it was our last night on earth, inhibitions tossed out the window and lost on the warm winds. Something about the way he clung to me as we made love, the focus in his eyes - I couldn’t look away. Soon he had me calling out his name so loud that the neighbors started banging on the walls again.

Still moving in sync with one another, he enveloped me with his arms. His breath feathered against my ear and his voice was tight with exertion. “Annoying the neighbors in every state we visit,” he exhaled with a laugh, burying his face in my neck and rolling so that I now straddled his hips.

The banging was insistent now, and coming from someplace else... the door? I laughed with him and closed my eyes in ecstasy as I rolled my hips against his, bringing us to a frenzy. Nothing else in the world mattered in that moment. I found his eyes already locked on mine and hummed:

“Let them break down the door.”


	17. “Some Velvet Morning”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after “Some Velvet Morning” by Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazelwood. I hope you give it a listen while you read, and enjoy.

Light.

I woke up to blinding white light everywhere, filling every one of my senses, making me wince. When I tried to shield my eyes, I found my wrists bound. 

Bound. To a bed. In a white hospital room. IV in my arm, strapped to a pole nearby. 

Arkham. 

It had to be a dream. I struggled against the restraints but found them wrapped around my chest and legs, too. The more I struggled, the tighter they became. Grunting and fighting tears, I stopped after a few moments and felt laughter creeping up from inside of me, absurd and painful. 

It had to be a dream. Or a joke.

When did it happen? As I struggled and laughed and cried in desperation, I fought through the druggy haze they’d put me in with whatever was in the IV until finally the thought hit me like a lightning bolt: dinner. 

“_Some velvet mornin' when I'm straight…”_

Dinner, at the hotel bar. Smiling over our drinks. The bartender staring at me. The TV on the wall above him… 

We were on the TV. A news report, someone had tipped the police off about my connection to Arthur, and now that we were both missing, they were broadcasting our photos everywhere. 

“ _ I’m gonna open up your gate…” _

He’d called the cops. That was the banging we’d heard at the door. 

Was I that damaged, that I’d hallucinated it all being okay after that? Or was it denial? What else happened? 

_ “… and maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra.” _

Flashes of memories surfaced through the fog in my brain: The door splintering as they kicked it in. They grabbed me. It sent him into a frenzy; I could hear his shouts for them to leave me alone as another set of cops advanced on him. His voice - oh, the pain in his voice, it cut through me like a knife. Then, a blinding pain in my head - they must have clubbed me. And everything after that was dark. 

“_And how she gave me life...”_

I dissolved into tears and giggles. Laughing, crying, it was all the same as I thrashed once again, desperate to wriggle free. 

_ “And how she made it end…” _

The door opened and a large woman in a nurse’s uniform came in, tsking at me and shaking her head. 

_ “Some velvet mornin' when I'm straight.” _

“ All this fussing,” she said, to no one. “You are two peas in a pod, I’ll tell you what.”

Just the mention of him sent me into high alert. 

“Is he here? Arthur is here?” I asked, my voice sounding more hysterical than I meant it to be. Now I understood why they had me here. But if I could just see him I’d be alright, I just had to see him.

Whatever they were pumping me full of with the IV was making it hard to focus, and his name brought up the mental image of our perfect home on the beach in California once more. How close we’d gotten to it....

“_Flowers growing on a hill, dragonflies and daffodils.”_

Into the water we ran, splashing and laughing, the sunset splintering the water into crystals that dazzled our eyes. The breeze was warm. His eyes shone like diamonds. His skin was warm against mine.

“_Learn from us very much, look at us but do not touch. Phaedra is my name…”_

I smiled, despite being strapped to the gurney, eyes fixed on the ceiling... I could almost feel his lips on mine.

“Oh he’s here alright,” the woman said, snapping me back to reality.

_ “ Some velvet mornin' when I'm straight, I’m gonna open up your gate, and maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra.” _

“ Where?? Is he okay?” 

She drew a syringe from her pocket and focused on adding the liquid inside to my IV. I struggled for a moment and she hummed dismissively, “He’s fine. Gave them hell again from the moment he got here. Attacked an orderly and got himself sent to solitary already.”

He was still fighting! My heart pounded against. I was so relieved, so proud of him. 

“_And how she gave me life. And how she made it end, some velvet mornin' when I'm straight.”_

“And boy does he only have eyes for you. You must be something special, cause he wouldn’t stop talking about how he‘s coming for you after he gets out. Telling everyone with ears.”

My stomach went warm and I couldn’t stop my smile from turning into full-on laughter.

“He is?” I managed to ask between peals of laughter, right in her face when she bent to check my pupils. “Good!!”

That was my Arthur. The idea of him fighting them and coming back for me filled me with joy and hope I couldn’t contain. But the drugs she’d just added to the IV were strong - too strong.

“ _ Flowers are the things we know, secrets are the things we grow…” _

The nurse moved back to the door, hands on hips as she looked at me disapprovingly. From deep in my stomach the giggles kept coming, almost delirious as the warmth spread through my veins.

“ _ Learn from us very much, look at us but do not touch…” _

I fought against the sluggish feeling creeping through my body and making my limbs heavy as she left, the door slamming behind her. My laughter echoed against the padded walls as it died down and I slipped into a drug-induced sleep. 

I couldn’t wait for him to make good on his promise. He’d done it once, he’d do it again. I knew it. 

“_Phaedra is my name…”_

Just before I slipped into the darkness again, I pictured his smile and felt an overwhelming peace. 

Everything would work out. We’d find each other again.

We always did.

_ “Some velvet mornin' when I'm straight; Flowers growing on a hill... _

_ I'm gonna open up your gate; dragonflies and daffodils... _

_ And maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra; Learn from us very much... _

_ And how she gave me life; look at us but do not touch... _

_ And how she made it end…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end of Jessica and Arthur’s story! 
> 
> I am so grateful for all of the feedback and love you’ve got for these two. I love them too, and I can’t bear to see their story end. So while this may seem like it’s the end, I promise it isn’t.
> 
> Remember: they’ve each overcome much more difficult obstacles on their own... just imagine what they can accomplish together ;)


	18. "That's Life"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Jessica tell their stories in the interrogation room at Arkham.

The slam of a door. The clomp of heavy boots. The click of a recorder.

“This is Detective Andrew Mills, badge number 8603, interrogating Jessica Gray.”

A stern man in a suit sat across from me at the cold table and watched me with eyes the color of stale coffee.

“My name is Detective Mills and I’m here to ask you a few questions about you and Mr. Fleck, is that alright?”

I stared at a spot on the wall over his shoulder. I had to figure out what they were trying to pin on me before I spoke. So I stayed quiet.

-

_He sat at the interrogation table, staring blankly at his hands where they sat chained before him. His stomach churned in knots. He’d done this to her, he thought to himself. If not for him, she would have been safe, probably still at home. Instead she’d been walloped over the head by that fucking cop and dragged into this place to be forgotten like him. Was she even okay? The thought made him nauseous._

_The sound of the door creaking open caused him to look up - and when he saw the haggard, angry man enter the room, he went into a frenzy._

_“Where is she? What did you do to her, is she alright? I swear if you hurt her-“ he seethed, straining against the chains around his wrists and ankles._

_The man’s condescending smile never faltered; instead, he calmly put his coffee and a folder down, and set up the recorder he carried in under his arm while he let Arthur run out of steam._

_When he was done, the officer pressed record and started speaking, as matter of fact as he could be._

_“This is Detective David Somerset, badge number 613, interrogating Arthur Fleck.”_

_“Where is Jessica?” he said the words slowly this time, struggling to remain calm._

_Finally, Somerset replied, “She’s fine, but first we need to do some talking about what you’ve done since we last saw you.”_

_Arthur stared at the man, his eyes burning with hate. A dozen different ways to kill him flashed through his mind, but then he thought of her - a vision of her face, smiling at him from across the table at the coffee shop that first night - he stopped himself from acting on the impulse. He could do it for her, he thought._

_“What do you want to know?”_

_-_

“Why did you do it?”

Mills tried the good cop routine, softening his face for me while he tapped his fingers on the table.

“Do what?” I wasn’t about to give him anything.

He looked confused. “Help him.”

I scoffed. “Why did you _not_?”

His face fell. I had him there.

He tried a different approach.

“Witnesses say you were seen with Fleck outside your apartment shortly before the murders, and then again now, out in Nevada. Tell me how you got there.”

That’s when I realized how little they knew. Separating us to get our stories, it proved they had no idea what was going on. In fact, as I recounted the time they questioned me about, it occurred to me: they had no proof at all. And aside from that, we’d legitimately kept to ourselves. Despite the media’s - and the police’s - desire to paint us as Bonnie and Clyde, they had nothing.

“How we got to Nevada?” I asked.

He nodded. I smirked.

“We drove.”

The corners of Mills’ lips turned downwards into a frustrated frown. It only made me smile even more.

-

_“There were 12 murders in Gotham between your escape and capture.”_

_He shrugged. “So?”_

_“So,” Somerset replied, “Which ones are you going to take credit for?”_

_Take credit...? It was then that Arthur realized this frustrated detective phrased his question that way because he didn't have any evidence tying him to the crimes he was accusing him of. _

_Now he had them, he realized. He only smiled in response. “I can’t take credit for any of them.”_

_“And Gray?”_

_At this, he scoffed. “Oh she didn’t do anything. Won’t even kill a spider in the bathroom.”_

_Somerset’s face was mocking. “Perfect saint, huh? Even after she murdered her own stepfather in high school?”_

_He didn’t take the bait. “She did her time for that. Properly and completely rehabilitated, just like everyone who passes through Arkham’s doors.”_

_His smirk infuriated Somerset, and he loved it._

_-_

“How about we look at each one and see what you have to say, huh?”

Mills began recounting each murder that I’d seen in the paper over those weeks and months, tossing photos of each victim in front of me. $3,000 suits, slicked hair, bad hair pieces - they all looked the same. And while I recognized my attacker from that night I was followed home after the bar, and my old boss, I simply shook my head at every one of them. If he was trying to get a rise out of me by showing me their faces, it didn’t work. I had no feelings for these people, dead or alive.

“Nothing?” he asked.

I shrugged. Nothing.

-

_“Well how about we go further back,” Somerset said as he leaned back in his chair. “Murray Franklin? Those three boys on the train?”_

_Arthur scoffed. Boys. Boys that kicked and punched until he bled._

_The detective continued, “You admitted to them on public television. And Randall Knox? Ring any bells?”_

_Those were all old news, he realized. They had nothing new on him, and really just wanted him back in Arkham for good PR. He squinted at the man across the table from him and smiled. “That’s life.”_

_That visibly flustered the detective. And made Arthur smile even wider. They weren’t going to pin anything on him._

_-_

“You’re innocent then?”

I motioned to the bruise on my face from where the officers had beat me to get me into custody. “You tell me.”

Mills’ face faltered and I piled on more. “You beat the hell out of me, drug me to oblivion - I don’t even know what day it is. Did you make sure to get that on your tape recorder? Or how about the video?” I waved to the two-way mirror across the room, one hand dangling from the other by the cuff. “Make sure to get my good side, would you?”

“That was done for your own safety-“

“It was safer to knock me unconscious?”

The detective wasn’t ready for that one. So I kept going.

“You want to know why we did it? We were done. Done with this city, with you people,” I jutted my chin at him. “We wanted to disappear. Start fresh.”

“And raise hell in another city.” He said it with contempt. I felt obligated to counter.

“Did Gotham stop burning when we left?”

This made him pause. It didn’t, and we both knew that. In fact, it got worse.

“This city is fed up,” I said as I sat back in my chair. “Just like we were. The only difference is we got out while we could.”

-

_“You mean to tell me you were going to just... give it all up? Retire? Live out the rest of your days in the California sun, just like that?” The detective was pacing now, his frustration plain on his face._

_Arthur only smiled and shrugged, “That was the plan.”_

_Somerset scoffed. “Dream on.”_

_His calm demeanor only made the detective angrier. He wanted something, anything, from the handcuffed man at the table. But he wasn’t going to get it._

_“I want to see her,” he said calmly, resting back in his chair, chains around his wrist dragging across the metal of the table. He was done playing the game._

_So was Somerset. He laughed joylessly. “Yeah. Keep dreaming about that too, buddy,” he said as he stormed out of the room, leaving Arthur to sulk, his leg jangling against the table as he realized: the game was rigged._

_No matter, he thought. He’d played before and won. He could play it again._


	19. "All Along the Watchtower"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couple is thrown a lifeline from an unlikely ally - but will they take it?

“Gray! You’ve got a visitor.”

A jostle of guards and hallways, a beefy man flanking me on either side, and before I knew it I was in the doorway of an office. Seated at a small table inside was a woman, slim and serious. Her face was drawn; she looked tired, but kind.

She made the effort when I entered, though, stood and extended her hand with her version of a smile.

“Jessica, it’s nice to meet you.”

I accepted her handshake but didn’t come any closer. “Who are you?”

“I’m Debra Kane, a social worker. Please,” she motioned to the empty chair across from hers. The table between us wasn’t a desk; this was a little round table that said ‘we’re equals’. Or tried to. And the room was someone's office - an administrator or someone that wasn't currently occupying it. Interesting, I thought - that meant there would be no recording devices or cameras. 

Skeptical, I sat and waited for her to speak. She was nervous.

“I used to work with Arthur,” she began. “I was his case worker when... the incidents began.”

She couldn’t meet my eyes when she spoke. Guilty conscience. I wasn’t into absolution.

“And?”

She looked up, my voice bringing her back to the present. Fidgeting, she realized she’d have to get into it eventually. So she did.

“I want to help him. And you. The case against you is strong, but I can make an even stronger case in support of you, both, and... help you get your old lives back. If you’ll let me.”

A case? “What do you mean?"

“Currently they’re holding Arthur for five murders: all before he escaped, all around the time of his mother’s death and the severance of the city’s social welfare programs, which they’ve tried to cover up. And you - they can only charge you with aiding and abetting, which we can get thrown out thanks to their treatment of you,” she motioned to the bruises that covered my face and arms. I felt exposed; I ran my hands over the mottled skin and shrank. She continued.

“So. I’ll work with your lawyers to prove the state was negligent in its care - or lack thereof - of Arthur, that they’ve abused you unnecessarily, and get you both out of here as soon as next month.”

My head expanded and snapped back into place at the idea. This woman was crazier than me.

“Out of Arkham? No.” I said plainly. “Me, maybe. But Arthur? Never. Over the DA’s dead body.”

She seemed to analyze her next sentence before she spoke. When she did, her voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

"It's not as crazy as it sounds when you've got friends like mine."

I stared at her with an eyebrow cocked and wondered if maybe she should be the one in the white jumpsuit and not me.

“I know what you’re thinking. But as a social worker, I have all kinds of... let's call them friends in low places. They want you out of here as much as you do. And some of them owe me favors.”

“What kind of favors?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

She shrugged and glanced down at her hands, straightened her jacket. “The kind of favors you don’t talk about in public.”

A social worker with an ethics problem wanted to help the Clown Prince of Gotham and his girlfriend. The thought alone made me laugh.

But as she stared back at me, her mouth set in a serious line, it started to make sense. Of course she’d have connections to all kinds of shady characters. Hell, half of Gotham was shady characters anymore. And with free access to a prescription pad, she probably had no shortage of “friends” that owed her favors. What they would have to do was beyond my grasp at the moment, but the thought grew on me.

She continued, “Gotham is a shambles. You were right to want to get out. If California is where you want to go, we’ll get you there.”

I weighed my options. Walk away and stay in this hole. Arthur would probably try to break out again, and would undoubtedly come back for me, somehow. But where would we go after that? If they were on the lookout for us before, we wouldn’t make it to the river before being spotted. And something told me the cops wouldn’t just use clubs on us next time. A vicious cycle of breaking out and running from the cops for the rest of our lives, however long we had. Didn’t seem too bright of a path. 

On the other hand, I had this stranger in front of me who, while she was hazy on the details, seemed to offer a golden ticket out of this city. Was she some kind of spy from the prosecution, sent to sniff out details that would damn me? That idea sounded ridiculous even to me. Maybe she was for real and she was some kind of way out of here. The thought made the song pop into my head and I laughed at the absurdity: _there must be some kind of way out of here, said the Joker to the thief._

In any case, what did I have to lose? While I felt her out some more, I changed the topic to kill some time out of my cell.

“Have you seen him? Told him about this?” I asked, just interested in hearing what she knew about him and how he was.

Her face turned serious again. “We spoke, yes. He was skeptical, to put it lightly.”

I laughed lightly, “Of course he was. If playing nice with you is part of the deal, I can’t imagine he was open to the idea,” I asked, settling back into my chair.

She found her in. “That’s where you come in..”

Now she was getting to it.

“By getting you on board, our hope is that Arthur will come around too. This won’t work without both of you.”

“Are you talking about using me as bait?”

She held up a hand in peace. “Not exactly. I like to think of it as... motivation.”

I followed the chain of events in my head and smirked. “Motivation to what... put both of us on display if they take it to trial? Like a couple of circus freaks?”

She conceded, “If they do go that route - which they could - it will be a difficult trial, I’ll admit. Your past will be brought up, I’m sure. But it would be particularly bad for Arthur. His upbringing and mental health will be under the spotlight, and it’s probably going to get ugly.”

I stared back at her. “Why would he ever agree to that?”

It was her turn to settle back into her own chair. “Put it this way: if he wants to see you again, what choice does he have?”

I sulked.

“Look,” she softened, leaning forward. “I’ve seen the interview tapes from when they brought you in here. To hear it from both of you, you were on your way to a happily ever after, content to quietly live out your days in the California sun, not bothering anyone again for as long as you lived, yeah?”

The memory sent a pang through my heart. I raised my eyes but not my head.

She made her final pitch. “After what Arthur did, the police needed a win. They got it. I want to turn it into a win-win.”

I was skeptical; but how could I walk away? I tried not to show any emotion when I finally caved and asked, “How would it work?”

Her face lit up: she had me. She went into her next speech. “I worked with Arthur for years. I know he’s not a...” she stopped, changed her approach.

“He is a perfect example of all the ways the system can fail a person. Cutting psychiatric services, corrupt politicians and police... by working together to shine a light on all the things that are wrong with this city we can turn those failures into bargaining chips. If the rest of the country sees what’s happening here, the people who run Gotham can’t hide behind their money and their power anymore. Then, I call in some favors to clean the slate, help you disappear, and... get you both that happy ending you deserve.”

I could tell she’d rehearsed this speech many times. She cared enough to rehearse. The hope crept into my voice before I could stop it. “You really think you can do that?”

She shrugged. “It’s not just me, of course. But I’m ready to work with the best lawyers in the country - and the underbelly of Gotham. And I won’t stop fighting until you’re safe in California.”

She seemed genuine, ready to fight. And for the first time in weeks since we’d been tossed in this place, I was too. But that skepticism crept up from the back of my mind and I had to ask.

“Why are you helping us?”

Her face turned serious again. “Because I feel a crushing sense of guilt over the role I played in the system that failed Arthur. I was his social worker for years, but I just checked off boxes and wrote prescriptions instead of really listening to him. I should have fought harder then. Now I can.”

“And besides,” she continued, “I played by the rules my whole life and still got the shaft when they shuttered social services. It’s time to start breaking the rules to do some good.”

She was looking for redemption, by doing something truly good for someone else, and she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. My mind raced as I tried to find holes in her argument, reasons to say no, but all I could focus on was the tiny seed of hope she’d planted... and Arthur.

“You said you’ve seen him?” I asked plaintively.

She nodded, solemn once again.

“How is he?” I asked, my voice soft. She saw the concern in my face.

She opened her mouth to speak and paused, then softened. When she replied, her voice was quiet. She matched my energy.

“He needs you.”

That broke me. The idea of him hurting and alone... my face crumpled and I looked down at my hands in my lap. Tears fell into my lap.

”He’s been asking to see you.”

I looked up at her with wet cheeks. “And you were right, he didn’t like the idea at first. But,” she said, allowing herself a kind smile, “he said he wants what’s best for you.”

With a sigh, I brought my cuffed wrists up to wipe my eyes. “He said that, huh?”

Part of me didn’t want to believe her. Maybe she was playing me to try to give him up, or I didn’t know what else...

“He did. And he also wanted me to tell you: don’t forget to smile.”

I froze and my heart stopped. A smile crept to the corners of my mouth through the tears with a small laugh. “Smile,” I repeated.

She watched as I tried to pull myself together. “I know it seems impossible. But we have to fight. This city needs a wake up call.”

That was too much. I laughed now, at the irony of her phrasing. That was what started this whole thing, wasn’t it? Maybe it would be what ended it.

I was willing to find out.


	20. "Happy Together"

Nighttime in Arkham, and sleep was the last thing on my mind. Over the screams and chatter of the other inmates, I replayed every sentence of my conversation with Debra Kane from earlier in the day while I curled up into a ball on the hard cot in my cell.

She had offered to come back in a few days to give me time to think, but that was the last thing I needed. All I had in this place was time to think, about every opportunity I had missed to keep us safe.

I should have realized the bartender was looking at us.

I should have told him before we went back to the room.

I should have fought the police harder...

After a while, my brain had exhausted all of the should haves and could haves and moved onto the what if’s presented to me that day.

What if Kane really could get us out of here? 

What if her friends could help us get to California? What did she even mean by giving us a clean slate?

What if she was lying? What if she failed?

The later it got, the rowdier the inmates became, to the point where I couldn’t hear myself think anymore. When I stopped trying to drown it out with my own thoughts, I recognized one voice that seemed to rise above the noise with a steady song that he’d been singing all night:

“If I should call you up, invest a dime, and you say you belong to me, and ease my mind. Imagine how the world could be, so very fine, so happy together....”

I went warm all over. 

Arthur. 

“I can't see me lovin' nobody but you, for all my life!” he shouted now, at the top of his lungs. 

Others began singing along with him, making a chorus of crazy. I laughed and joined in too, from my own cell. 

“When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue for all my life!”

My heart did a somersault at the idea that he was in a cell that close, but I couldn’t see him. I missed him so much, but his singing continued and I listened as he continued.

“Me and you, and you and me. No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be. The only one for me is you, and you for me, so happy together....”

He wound up for the big finale and it seemed like the entire asylum was singing now, bopping along as I laughed and focused on Arthur’s voice. 

“So happy together... so happy together....!”

I didn’t have to wait for Kane to visit later in the week. I was ready to give her my answer right then and there.


	21. “Season of the Witch”

“Avon calling.”

Debra Kane’s voice had a smile in it; I turned from where I sat on the floor in my cell and found her standing at the bars in her Sunday best.

It was deposition day, Christmas Eve, and she’d come to collect me so we could ride together to the courthouse where we’d meet Arthur and our lawyers.

She waited for the guards to unlock my cell and led me out to a private room where she was set to help me get ready. Once we were inside, she unpacked a small bag with a brush and makeup and set to work on getting me cleaned up for the cameras.

As she stood behind me and brushed my hair back from my face, braiding it into a thick plait that fell down my back, I watched her in reverse in the plastic mirror in front of me. No one had ever done my hair for me.

“Turns out you have more people rooting for you than you thought,” she said as she worked, that half smile still on her face.

I gave her a questioning look.

“I’ve already told Arthur and your lawyers, but... a retired county clerk has just come forward with proof that his adoption records were forged.”

Her hands stilled on my shoulders as I processed this new information. She waited, her smile growing. This meant...

“Thomas Wayne?”

She shrugged. “Paternity couldn’t be proven, and now that he’s dead it definitely can’t. But the clerk has letters from Wayne’s lawyers asking to cover it up. He was up and coming, couldn’t have risked it leaking. It checks out. And it could still ruin their family name and cause a litigation nightmare for their estate.”

My breath grew short. This was huge.

She remained calm and sat next to me. Applying gloss to my lips, she spoke quietly, “We’re going to drop it on them at the deposition today. We think it could force their hand to reduce Arthur’s sentence.”

My mind raced. I couldn’t focus on any one thought with the idea bouncing around my head: freedom. 

A reduced sentence would mean a quicker return to... normal seemed so far in the rear view that I didn’t even know if I would recognize it if it bit me on the ass. But it was a start. 

As she finished my prep, she coached me on what to say for the third time that week. I did my best to retain what she was saying, but the butterflies in my stomach were too powerful. I was going to see my Arthur again, today. In minutes. 

I was placed in the back of a van with Kane and a guard sitting across from me. “Season of the Witch” by Donovan played on the van radio as it started and we rolled out from the asylum basement and into the sunshine. 

I laughed: of course the sun would come out in Gotham on the one day we were outside to see it. It had to be a good sign. Kane smiled as she watched me take in the sights while we drove, though a dull droning noise caught my attention as we got closer to our destination. 

Near the courthouse, the noise had reached top volume when I realized it was the roar of a crowd: a mob of people had gathered on the steps, chanting and cheering.

“Who are these people?” I asked, peering through the grated windows of the van. 

“Your fans,” she replied with a wry smile as the doors opened and flooded the van with light.

I winced into the sun as I climbed out, a guard on my arm to help me. At the sight of me, the crowd went insane. 

It was all so overwhelming. Fresh air, blue sky, photographers snapping away, a screaming crowd on either side of the barricades, their signs held high. FREE THEM, FREE GOTHAM one said; WE ARE ALL CLOWNS was scrawled on another. 

But as I looked around in awe and let out a laugh, the sight of the other Gotham Department of Corrections van nearby made my heart flutter; he was here. 

Kane requested the guard let me walk on my own, and he obliged. I was about to look over my shoulder to see if Arthur had emerged yet, but a new roar from the crowd told me that he had - and there he was, just feet away.

My heart leapt into my throat and the crowd went wild. He turned at the sound and his entire face lit up at the sight of me. Before I could stop myself, I ran for him, unseen by the guards, and threw my cuffed hands around his neck for a perfect kiss. It was everything; just the feeling of his body against mine, the taste of his lips again, it was enough to give me hope for a thousand futures. 

The cheering tipped off the guards, though, and they tore us apart and shuffled us up the steps under extra security now, people shouting and cheering for us at every step of the way. It was chaos, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. 

Once we were inside, the process was a blur: our lawyers asking questions of the city’s lawyers, asking us to parrot back the information we’d been coached on giving. The whole thing was utterly uninteresting, though, now that we were in the same room together again. We couldn’t stop stealing glances at each other, and at one point he caught the giggles - genuine happy laughter - and I nearly did too. After a warning glance from Kane, I pulled myself together and Arthur followed suit; there would be time for this later. 

My case was discussed first; the city knew they had fucked up by letting the police and asylum staff do what they did to me, especially with such a damning lack of evidence against me. All I had done was aid and abet, and that charge was soon reduced to being an accessory, which carried only a fine. I’d be released by the end of the week.

The arguing escalated, however, after Arthur’s lawyer revealed the adoption office clerk’s news. Someone could have dropped a ticking bomb on the table between the parties involved and there would have been less of a reaction. The room erupted into chaos at the word adoption; shouting, arguing - one member of the prosecution even leapt out of his chair to point a finger at my lawyer. The noise came to a boiling point until finally the rest of the voices in the room died down, leaving only Arthur at the center of the table on the defense’s side, rocking himself in his chair, his head hanging down- and that horrible, painful laughter tearing out of his throat from somewhere deep inside him. 

He’d been set off by the noise and the anxiety, pushed into an episode - his first in months since getting off all of those medications - leaving us to bear witness as he choked and gasped between painful peals of involuntary laughter. His face twisted into a grimace as he willed it to stop, but only dissolved helplessly in a fresh wave. He’d been warned of this - and Kane had promised me that she’d broken the news to him gently - but to hear it repeated and debated by these strangers, to have his very existence argued about; it must have been hell. It was too much. 

The defense looked at him with pity while the prosecution looked at him with disgust, but the sound of it - the gagging and the hurt in his voice as he tried unsuccessfully to stop - it ripped my heart to shreds. No one moved a muscle. Sickened by the apathy of the people at the table, I stood up and strode over to him with purpose. The guard posted at the corner of the room made a move but Kane warned him, “Don’t.” Arthur looked up to find me approaching him with my bound hands out. 

“Hey,” I murmured between bursts. The panic and humiliation flared in his eyes as he watched me rest my hand on his arm and crouch next to him. Everyone in the room looked on with interest. 

I leaned in close so he could hide his face. “Hey, Handsome,” spoke in a low voice only he could hear. “It’s alright.” 

He stifled another round of laughter, the sound of it like a groan he tried to suppress, and I continued, “It’s alright, listen to me: we’ve got this. Okay? It’s gonna be okay.”

His eyes focused on me, his rocking stilled and he hummed as he tried to catch his breath; the worst of it was finally over. I smiled, a smile just for him. “I love you,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. 

He returned the smile, weakly. “I love you.” His voice was hoarse, tears filled his eyes, but he was okay. I sighed. 

A hand on my shoulder brought me back to reality where I found Kane standing behind me with kind eyes - it was time to continue. Turning back to Arthur, I gave his arm one more gentle caress and stood, moving back to my chair. 

The next person to speak did so almost uncertainly; they all needed a bit of time to process what they’d just seen. As I settled, I silently observed the panic in the DA’s eyes as he read the letters the clerk had provided us with… and suddenly it felt like we had a chance. 

Where they had been out for blood when we arrived, the idea of taking the case to court was discussed at length before being thrown out, and talk of a plea bargain with a reduced sentence began. They seemed to have anticipated something of that magnitude and were ready to quietly sweep the entire thing under the rug. 

But the question remained what would become of us after the broom was put away. That would come later, I guessed. But judging by Kane’s satisfied smile as the prosecution packed up their things at the end of the meeting, we both realized we’d had a win today. 

I found Arthur as they stood him up and walked him out first. He flashed me a smile - one of those half-hidden smiles that I vowed I’d never take for granted again - and I breathed a sigh of relief. He was happy too. As he was taken away, he managed to shout over his shoulder before the door closed on him: 

“I’ll see you soon, Gorgeous!”

I laughed, “Yes you will, Handsome!”

When I turned back around, Kane was smiling at me like she’d given me the world. But she’d given me so much more.


	22. "Wild Horses"

As promised, late in the day after the deposition, a guard arrived at my cell to inform me that I’d been released. On Christmas Day.

Debra Kane made good on her promise and was there to collect me when I walked out, back in the dress I’d been wearing when they took me into custody months ago.

As we made our way back to her apartment that evening, where I was to stay until Arthur was sentenced, she explained our next steps. While I was free, Arthur would remain in Arkham. His initial crimes were too - public - to be forgiven in the court’s opinion, but given the way the deposition went, Kane and our lawyers predicted a lenient sentence. Thought we wouldn’t know how long that meant he’d be in Arkham for until his official sentencing date, probably the following week.

While the thought was exciting at first, it nowmade me uneasy. Even if he were locked up for a year, it may as well be a decade. The longer I went without seeing him, the crazier I felt myself going. Getting out of Arkham was a start, but what was I going to do back in that city on my own? I’d go insane. But Kane had gotten me out and promised to get us out of this city for good eventually, so I had to trust the process.

When we arrived at her apartment later that evening, she invited me to clean up and rest while she went out to get some groceries for a Christmas dinner for us to share. Whatever she did once she left, I didn’t care; I hadn’t been alone since before we left for California and relished the opportunity for solitude.

While she was gone, I took a shower and played some of her records; she was an Al Green fan. As “Love and Happiness” began, I felt the groove of the song move through my body and the urge to dance hit me again, finally, after weeks - maybe months. A smile crept up on my face as I slowly warmed up the the beat and sang along while I danced around her living room. I was out, Arthur would soon follow, and we’d be free to do whatever we wanted. Go back to California and live out the happily ever after that Kane had promised us.

When she returned a short while later, she smiled when she found me setting the table to the music.

“Dinner with Mr. Green, I see?” she asked as she unpacked the groceries.

I shrugged, “It’s been too long since I’ve listened to music.”

As she started cooking, I helped by chopping vegetables. “You like music, don’t you?” She was making strides to learn more about me. And for the first time since Arthur, I didn’t try to brick wall her.

I nodded, “Arthur does too. It’s like we have music in us,” I tried to explain, but hearing it like that sounded... too simple, too flowery.

But she got it. With a nod and smile, she traded me a hand towel for the vegetables and replied, “That’s a good thing. To find it in someone else? Don’t lose that.”

I felt a wave of affection for her for saying that. To be understood was a gift I’d only ever experienced with my brother and Arthur. I only hoped I could repay her kindness one day.

When dinner was ready, we ate while discussing the plan beyond that week. Given that we had no idea how long we’d be at this stage of the game, I was prepared to get a job, but Kane offered me her spare bedroom until I could get on my feet again.

“I really can’t thank you enough,” I told her as I cleared our plates and got to work on washing them.

She shook her head as her phone began to ring, “You don’t have to thank me. We’re not done yet,” she winked as she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

I smiled and turned back to the dishes, drying what I’d finished and putting them away while she took the call in the hall. After a few moments, I heard her hang up and turned to find her smiling, holding something in her hand like a gift.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

She only grinned in return. “What do you say to a date night?”

She handed over a piece of paper with the words _Imperial Hotel, Room 1602_ scrawled on it.

The confusion on my face made her laugh. “My addition to the plea bargain: he waits for sentencing in my custody. Technically. That was my brother, he was getting him set up at a hotel we’re putting him up in until then. He just left. Arthur’s waiting for you.”

I heard her words but couldn’t move - it was surreal. Freedom, Arthur, it was all too much.

“Merry Christmas,” she said with a smile.

My breath caught in my chest and I had to stop from crying. “What?”

“This is just temporary,” she warned me kindly, finding my eyes so she had my full attention. I nodded and she continued, “And it’s imperative he stay there. I can’t stress this enough: he stays there and out of trouble. You can go to the drug store or the coffee shop or dinner, but we need to play by the rules. I’m not going to babysit, and I’m not asking you to. I’m just... taking a chance here. Honor system. Okay?”

I nodded again, desperate to get to him. “Okay.”

Kane just smiled and took my hand in hers, placing the paper in my palm and closing my fingers over it. “Go.”

All I remember is trying not to cry with gratitude and thanking her with a huge hug. I vaguely remembered taking the 10pm train to Gotham Village, and the next thing I knew I was in the elevator at the Imperial, hands shaking in my pockets, the piece of paper with the room number crushed in my palm as if it were my ticket to heaven.

Down the hall of the 16th floor I practically floated to his door, where I suddenly froze. What if he wasn’t there? What if he’d undone everything we were working towards by escaping again; how would we come back from that? My stomach churned and my fingers twitched on the doorknob.

Finally, I mustered the courage to open the door and step inside, where Arthur sat, cross-legged, on the bed with his journal in his lap while the clock radio played The Rolling Stones, “Wild Horses”. He was waiting, already looking up at me, the hope in his eyes almost too much for me to bear. The emotions washed over me like a tidal wave. Tears filled my eyes.

“_Childhood living is easy to do. The things you wanted, I bought them for you.”_

He stood, wordlessly, and met me in the middle of the room. He was brighter than I'd remembered him; his eyes shone clearly, his skin glowed. We stopped, afraid to touch; it was like a dream that we both didn’t want to end. His eyes moved over my face, lips parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Instead, he caught my tears with his fingers and sent me reeling with his touch: he was real, really here with me. No running or hiding, no worries about the police showing up at the door. Just us.

_“Graceless lady, you know who I am. You know I can't let you slide through my hands.”_

I sighed and dared to rest a hand on his chest, solid and warm. The awe and joy of feeling him under my hands bubbled up and I laughed softly through my tears. When I looked up into his eyes - those eyes I never thought I’d see again, clear and blue-green like sea glass - I exhaled, all my anxiety melting off my shoulders.

He moved closer, breath ghosting over my cheeks. The room disappeared and all that remained was the music and his lips...

_“Wild horses couldn't drag me away.”_

Down and deep we kissed, like we shared the only oxygen in the world. He wrapped his hand around my neck to hold me closer and kiss me even deeper, my tears subsiding. He smelled like hotel soap and tasted like... him. Like I remembered him, like home. I wouldn’t care if the world stopped right then and there.

_“Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away...”_

It was almost too much, but nowhere near enough, all at once. I needed more, wanted all of him, but didn’t even trust my own eyes.

We pulled apart by inches, breathing heavy, still uncertain of if it was real. I couldn’t help it.

“I’m dreaming,” I whispered, shaking my head softly. It had to be a dream. That was the only explanation.

He laughed, just a light exhale. Brushing some hair behind my ear and cupping my cheek, he kissed me lightly and I closed my eyes at his touch. The butterflies filled my stomach when he rested his forehead against mine and whispered, “Wide awake.”

When I opened my eyes and found him still there, eyes shrink wrapped with tears and a smile on his face, I was struck with the urge to melt into him and never come up for air.

_“I know I've dreamed you a sin and a lie. I have my freedom but I don't have much time.”_

I sank back into the bed, pulling him with me by his shirt, and dissolved into his kiss once more. The crush of his weight on top of me was the only thing keeping me from floating away in happiness.

_“Faith has been broken, tears must be cried; let’s do some living after we die.”_

It all happened in slow motion: clothes were peeled away, his lips feathered against my stomach, my sighs for more echoed off the hotel room walls. If I’d felt hollow in his absence, the ache of being filled with him once more was enough to bring me to ecstasy. 

_“Wild horses couldn't drag me away. Wild, wild horses we'll ride them some day...”_

Over and over again that night, we found each other through the darkness, speaking only in whispers and sighs for fear of breaking the spell and waking up to find it was all a dream.

Only it wasn’t. It was real and we were together again, and we had a future this time.


	23. “I Only Have Eyes For You”

Our first night back together was a late one; we almost didn’t want to fall asleep, for fear of our new togetherness being ripped out of our hands once more. We talked ourselves hoarse with all of the stories we’d had to share since we’d been together last. Finally, sometime after 1am, I finally settled next to Arthur, his warmth and scent lulling me into peaceful sleep.

A few hours later, I woke to use the bathroom and blinked in the dark - he was still there beside me. The flutter in my chest at the sight of him felt like a bird in a cage. I didn’t think I would ever get tired of seeing him there next to me.

In the bathroom mirror, I took in my reflection and sighed. It was like something from a dream: we were back together, even after how close we’d come to losing each other. Just 24 hours ago we were both in Arkham, our futures uncertain. Now, here we were, in some fancy hotel in the ritzy part of Gotham, free people (or temporarily free, in Arthur’s case), with people on our side working to get us out of this shithole city for good. Our dream of California had been snatched away only to now be forming again right before our eyes. I dared to let my mind wander as I stared into the mirror, drifting to the shade of a palm tree near warm waters, right outside the door of a little bungalow we’d live in... my heart swelled.

A chill ran down my back and brought me out of my reverie, sending me padding back to bed, soundlessly back under the covers next to him. My movement woke him slightly; he sighed and shifted in his sleep, his eyes opening slightly to find me there. He hummed as he wrapped his arm around my middle under the blankets, his voice heavy with sleep, "Mmm... it wasn't a dream."

I smiled to myself and turned my face to his, kissing his lips sweetly. He lingered on my kiss, taking my lower lip between his teeth and sucking, igniting the fire in my belly for him once again. With a contented sigh, I rolled over to press my back against him, little-spoon style, and he responded by pulling me closer, his hardness digging between my legs and sending a spike of heat through my core.

His hand moved over my skin, under my camisole and around my ribs, down my hip and over the fabric of my panties. "You are so beautiful," he murmured into my ear, giving me goosebumps.

He wasn't fully awake, just loving the feeling of my body under his warm hands. Still on the edge of sleep, he ground against me slowly and sighed into my neck, nuzzling there and planting his lips on my skin. 

His fingers danced along the edge of my panties and around the curve of my ass, goosebumping my flesh. He squeezed gently and caressed my thighs, just exploring my body with his hand in between asleep and awake. It was divinely relaxing; the warmth of his body and the gentle tickle of his fingers caused me to drift back to sleep with a smile on my lips and his whispers in my ear.

When morning came, I woke slowly: my eyes opened and focused on the blankets in front of me. The bright morning sunlight filtered in through gauzy curtains behind me and illuminated the off-white duvet, warming my face where I lay. Just beyond the bunched up blanket, there was a shoulder... and a mop of hair, and a face, eyes closed in peaceful sleep.

My movement woke him too, and with a deep sigh and a lazy, hazy smile, he opened his eyes and murmured, "Good morning, Gorgeous."

I returned his smile and couldn't help it: "Good morning, handsome." It was such a thrill to have him there, to wake up with him and know that we didn’t have to rush into our clothes and take off on the lam again. No more hiding, no more running - just us.

Just as I sidled up next to him, the phone rang, startling us. It was Debra Kane, calling to tell us that sentencing would take place on January 2nd.

That gave us a whole week to enjoy Arthur’s temporary freedom before he was taken from me once more, including New Year’s Eve.

Before we hung up, I had to ask: “What about that clean slate you promised?”

Her response was a resolute “I’m working on it.” 

-

While it was the end of December in Gotham, it was mild outside, so now that we were awake so early, we took advantage of the empty post-holiday streets with a walk around the neighborhood in the quiet stillness of the morning. Inevitably, the conversation turned to what would happen the following week.

Arthur stubbed out his cigarette with a cough. “How long do you think they’ll put me away for?” he asked, trying to make light of it. The question made my stomach ache. I looked down at my boots as we walked, our breath fogging the air.

“I don’t know. Kane says it shouldn’t be too bad,” I started.

“She’s never spent a night there. Twelve hours feels like a month.”

“I know,” I said quietly, not wanting to remember what it was like there. After all, I’d spent more time there than both of us combined already.

That’s when he realized what he’d said and stopped walking. “I’m sorry,” he spoke to his shoes, eyes lowered.

“It’s alright,” I replied, wishing my stomach would stop burning over the whole thing. “I just... can we just not talk about it? And enjoy... this?” I motioned around us.

His brow creased and relaxed in an instant at the thought. “Yes.“

My shoulders released as he leaned in to give me a soft kiss. I spotted a coffee shop across the way. “Join me for some coffee?”

He smiled and took my hand to cross the empty street and enter the shop. And true to our words, we ignored the anvil hanging over our heads for the next few hours - and the next few days - and simply enjoyed the time we had together.

Time moved slowly and too quickly, all at once. Lazy mornings with hotel coffee and pastries from the bakery across the street flowed into afternoons of putting together puzzles and dancing to music on the clock radio. The station that came in the best loved the oldies, and we slow danced to “I Only Have Eyes For You” by the Flamingoes more than once. Most evenings we’d pass the time playing cards or talking about what our house in California would look like while we ate takeout, and made love until we fell asleep, only to do it all over again the next day. 

It was a perfectly quiet and peaceful existence - until the 30th, when Debra Kane showed up around our door, a surprise visit with a serious face and two words that brought reality crashing back down around us:

“It’s time.”

Confused, we glanced at each other and ushered her in, where Kane opened her briefcase on the table in the corner and turned to face us.

“I thought we had more time,” I pled. “Sentencing isn’t for three more days...”

She shook her head. “We’re not going to make it to sentencing.”

Now we both gave her questioning looks.

“For Arthur Fleck and Jessica Gray to make it safely to California, they have to die.”

My stomach sank to the floor. Arthur reached for my hand. “What?” he asked.

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other and began. “Tomorrow night at the New Year’s Eve celebration in Gotham Square, we’re going to fake your deaths so you can avoid sentencing and leave Gotham with a clean slate.”

The idea was laughable on the surface. But as she explained the plan, we realized it would work. It had to.

Kane had worked with our lawyers to get usspecial permission from the DA to attend the New Year’s Eve celebration in Gotham Square, where a handful of Kane’s former clients - and our supporters - would work together to make it happen. An accident was to be staged: too many fireworks, a stray cigarette butt flicked into the wrong area, the two of us at the wrong place at the wrong time....

After the explosion - this was the part where our eyebrows went up - we were to head to the docks on foot, where we’d find a car. Kane’s connection at the Coroner’s Office would have our death certificates filed by morning.

“But what happens when they spot us again,” Arthur asked, his pacing now dwindled to the jangling of his leg as he sat on the edge of the bed. “They had us all over the news last time, they’ll recognize us in a heartbeat and we’ll be right back in Arkham in no time.”

“That’s where these come in,” Kane replied as she dumped out the contents of the bag she brought with her on the bed: scissors, hair dye and hats.

I scoffed. Arthur laughed once before getting back up off the bed in frustration. But Kane remained serious. “Before you leave the hotel for good tomorrow night, you’re going to change your appearances, leave your things behind, and head out to the celebration to be reborn.”

“Reborn?” I asked incredulously.

She smiled, ready for the question, and handed a small parcel to each of us, “Reborn.”

We opened them up and examined the contents: new fake drivers licenses and paperwork with fake names and new identities, all ready to go.

“Rebecca Moore,” I said as I reviewed my new persona’s paperwork.

Arthur laughed, “Jeremy Wright.”

I looked up and found him smiling as he examined his new birth certificate and license. All the materials needed to start all over again, for both of us. Our frustration and disbelief melted away and left only hope. We had to try.

We looked back at Debra Kane, our expressions saying what we couldn’t. She smiled, “I know it sounds crazy, but... we’re ready. And it’s going to work.”

After all we’d been through, we believed her.


	24. “Paint It Black”

We spent New Year’s Eve day, our final hours as ourselves, curled against each other in bed, unwilling to separate. We rehearsed the plan in whispers to each other, the clock radio distracting us as we watched the sky grow darker by the hour with an impending snow storm. 

“What if something goes wrong,” I asked nervously, staring at a spot on the wall opposite where I lay tucked into Arthur’s arms like a little spoon to his big one. 

“It won’t,” he reassured me kindly.

I sat quietly for a beat. “But what if they see us? Or the accident, what if-“

He moved to roll me onto my back and I found him smiling at me. “It’s going to work,” he said with honey in his voice. 

I opened my mouth to speak again and he covered my lips with a finger, bringing a smile to my face. 

“It’s going to work...” he repeated, “...  Rebecca .”

I laughed, “I hope you’re right,  Jeremy .”

The corner of his lip curled up in a silly smile; it would take some time to get used to that.

When he settled back into the blankets, he pulled me into his arms and sang along to the music on the radio, crooning like Elvis To “It’s Now or Never” in my ear and reducing me to giggles. 

“ _ It's now or never,  _ _ Come hold me tight.  
_ _ Kiss me my darling,  _ _ Be mine tonight.  
_ _ Tomorrow will be too late.  _ _ It's now or never,  _ _ My love won't wait.” _

He always knew what to do to put my mind at ease and make me smile; today was no exception. But as the song ended and we looked outside to see the sun had set, our smiles faded; it was time for action.

With the shower steaming the mirrors, I sat on the sink and saturated my head with platinum dye while Arthur worked the water through his hair under the stream of the shower. After I finished, I paced at the window and watched the snow begin to fall while the color leached from my hair, turning my auburn locks into white-blonde tresses. Arthur, on the other hand, moved to the sink next to dye his hair a jet black, laughing as color splashed everywhere when he misjudged the power of the nozzle.

I took to the shower to rinse my hair and dried it with a towel before taking the scissors in my hand and returning to stand at the mirror. Arthur stood nearby with his new black hair and an apprehensive look on his face as I parted my hair down the middle and divided it into equal sections down either shoulder. The blonde looked so alien and unfamiliar. Pulling one side out, I raised the scissors and held my breath. 

With a backwards glance at Arthur in the mirror behind me, I cut, taking the first chunk of hair off above my shoulders in two chops of the scissors. His eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe I’d done it. I laughed at the sudden finality of it - just like that, I was half of a new person - and did the same on the other side. 

I was Rebecca Moore.

I shook my head from side to side, my new haircut swinging around my chin freely. My head felt lighter, like a balloon. I rolled my shoulders and enjoyed the new freedom this shorter cut gave me, then turned to hand the scissors to Arthur. 

He held up a hand, “No, I can’t... You do it?”

I laughed - he was cute when he was scared.

So I took my place behind him and had him stand on a towel before me at the mirror, then slowly got to work at chopping his hair off, but by bit, cutting it close to his head at the back and leaving it slightly longer on top to comb it back in a deep side part. He brushed at his nose as the wisps of hair I trimmed fell across his face, catching on his eyelids. I took advantage of his closed eyes as I finished and ended the cut with a surprise kiss: “All done.”

When he opened his eyes, we looked at his new style in the mirror together and tried not to laugh.

“You look like Elvis,” I said, hand on my cheek in realization.

He stifled a giggle and gave me the signature Elvis lip curl. When he spoke, he imitated the King of Rock and Roll himself: “Uh... Thank you, thank you very much.”

Together we burst out laughing, giddy, our new identities already making us feel lighter and more buoyant. Maybe this would work.

With our new appearances secured, we changed into our new outfits and bundled up in hats and scarves to hide our new looks. As far as anyone knew, we were still Arthur and Jessica. But as we packed just a few of our things and left the rest - to make our deaths look convincing - and stepped outside, the snow swirled around us in the purple sky, whiting out our vision, and our old lives already felt miles behind us.

It was near 11pm already, and the sound of the crowds in Gotham Square drifted towards us on the wind as it whipped the snow around buildings and cars. A car nearby was blasting its radio: “Paint it Black” by The Rolling Stones.

“_I see a red door and I want it painted black. No _ _ colors anymore I want them to turn black.  
I  _ _ see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes.  
_ _ I have to turn my head until my darkness goes...” _

He reached for my hand as we crossed the street and made our way to the celebration, where the accident was going to be staged. 

We were to meet Debra Kane at the party in the heart of Gotham, outside an abandoned warehouse near the water where the fireworks for the celebration were being stored. She served a dual purpose: to give us the keys to our getaway car, and to serve as a witness to our “deaths” for the police and coroner.

The official story would be that I went into the warehouse to look for a restroom, then Arthur went in after me when I didn’t come back. Kane would later testify that she saw Arthur follow me in just before the explosion, but in reality we’d slip out a service tunnel at the back of the building just in time.

My heart raced as we made our way to our places. The crowds moving around us were loud and already drunk - the final countdown was happening just a block west, so the madness spilled out all the way to the empty warehouses that lined the river where we stood.

My heart raced as we joined our mark on the corner. “Happy New Year,” said Debra Kane, with a smile and an outstretched hand.

I accepted her offering: a key attached to a smiley face keychain. The key to our future. Arthur smiled at me from under his hat and scarf, his face barely visible but his crinkled eyes shining with happiness, snow catching his eyelashes.

Running my fingers along the ridge of the key where I held it in my pocket, I couldn’t help myself and threw my arms around our friend in a grateful hug.

She was momentarily stunned, but soon returned the gesture, rocking with me softly.

“Thank you, Debra.” I said it through happy tears that spilled out of my eyes and froze on my cheeks.

When she replied, I heard the emotion in her voice. “You’re welcome.”

We parted and she sniffled, the snow picking up and gusting around us. “I just wish I could do more,” she said quietly, over the roar of the crowd.

I shook my head, “You’ve given us a future...”

Arthur finished my sentence, “...a second chance.”

She looked at Arthur with pain in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I saw every mistake she thought she’d made, etched onto her face. But Arthur simply shook his head and smiled. “Thank you.”

She nodded. This was her redemption. With a deep breath, she looked at us both before her and back over her shoulder expectantly. It was time.

My stomach flip-flopped. I glanced at Arthur and back at Kane. “Do you know if there’s a bathroom in there?” I asked, motioning into the warehouse.

Arthur’s eyes went wide at the realization. We were starting. Kane shrugged, “Should be - go take a look.”

I nodded and looked back at Arthur. “I’ll be back soon.”

He nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets, his nerves suddenly like frayed wires. “Okay.”

For a brief moment I thought about all the things that could go wrong - but then I saw those California palm trees in my mind’s eye and smiled. It relaxed Arthur just enough, and in I went.

Just like we planned, I stayed on the far side of the building, away from the explosion they’d planned - and just as expected, Kane’s associate stepped out of the shadows up ahead with a wave. “Don’t worry - nobody in here but us clowns,” he said - what Kane said he would.

I slowed apprehensively and gave him a nod. “Just count to ten and head straight through the last door on the right,” he nodded over his shoulder. “Follow the tunnel north to the water. The green Chevy Impala at the end is yours.”

“Thank you,” I managed to reply, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.

He smiled. “No. Thank  you . You guys saved this city.”

I was shocked and touched - I had nothing to do with it, did I? I heard the doors creak open behind us and there was Arthur, jogging in and calling out my name, “Jess??”

Our helper nodded at me, “Count to ten.”

I nodded and gave a silent wave to Arthur as our helper took off into the darkness to our left, quietly counting to myself.

As he made it to me, I kept going, “Six, seven, eight...”

He realized what was happening as I got to nine and ten, then grabbed my hand and started running for the back of the warehouse. At almost precisely the count of ten, the first explosion rocked the floor beneath us and a fireball blasted towards us from the far corner of the building. We shouted in surprise, looking up at the ceiling way above our heads as it began to crumble.

_”If I look hard enough into the settin' sun_   
_My love will laugh with me before the mornin' comes_

_I see a red door and I want it painted black_   
_No colors anymore I want them to turn black_   
_I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes_   
_I have to turn my head until my darkness goes”_

Another explosion, this time even closer, erupted from the center of the warehouse where our helper had just run to - it was happening. And so we ran, his arm stretched behind him to hold onto mine. He glanced back to me with a concerned look as the newest round of explosions now shook the ground even harder, fireballs lighting up the roof above us. I flinched at the loudest one yet as it rocked the opposite side of the warehouse, dust clouding my vision. I shouted and shielded myself as the wall we'd just passed exploded to bits around us violently. Arthur tugged me away from the wall and threw an arm up over me to shield me as we ran together.

Finally at the last door on the right, he flung it open and led me inside, slamming it behind us. It sounded like the warehouse behind us came crashing down as we ran down the stairs. But once we hit the bottom, we paused to catch our breath - it was done. We were dead.

I tore my hat and scarf off and shook my hair out - it was time for Rebecca to make her debut. Arthur followed suit with a laugh, and with that, we took off for our getaway car.


	25. “Two of Us”

Safely in the car, I merged into the flow of traffic out of Gotham proper via the waterfront access road just before midnight. The roads were just empty enough, with the few police cars on the roads racing past us in the opposite direction towards the accident we were supposed to have died in. Once we made it over the bridge and onto the highway, Arthur watched the fireworks pop off behind us and laughed in relief.

“Happy New Year,” he said quietly, still looking out the back window.

I snuck a peek in the rearview and smiled as the last of the embers died, taking every trace of Arthur and Jessica with them.

“Happy New Year.”

It was time for our second cross-country trip, this time as free people.

Through the night I drove, stopping just after sunrise somewhere in Ohio for gas and breakfast. This would be our test - if we could walk in and out like any other unknown couple, we’d be safe.

So into the roadside diner booth we slid, making polite conversation with the waitress who greeted us with a smile. A small TV in the corner was tuned to the local news.

As we waited for our coffee, we talked about mindless things - the weather, the diner decor, anything but the reality of what was happening. We were afraid to let our guard down. But as the waitress dropped off our food with a smile, we paused at the mention of Gotham City on the television:

“ _ News from Gotham City today, big news, isn’t that right, Sam?” _

_ “That’s right, Karen, finally some good news coming from the major city this morning: Arthur Fleck, the terrorist that calls himself the Joker, along with his accomplice, Jessica Gray, were both killed last night in the warehouse explosion that rocked Gotham Square at the culmination of the city’s New Year’s Eve celebration.” _

My heart pounded in my chest and the spoon fell out of my hand and clattered to the table.

“ _ The two were last seen entering the building shortly before the fireworks stored there for the celebration caught fire and ignited the underground propane tanks. Their remains were located just hours ago, according to the coroner’s office, thus ending the heinous murder spree that began with the deaths of three promising young Gothamites and culminated with the on-air execution of beloved late night talk show host, Murray Franklin. It’s safe to say that the streets of Gotham are once again safe and the Joker’s reign of terror... is over.” _

Arthur turned to look at me, his blue eyes wide and bright. We had to keep our reactions to ourselves, we knew. But inside, we were  screaming .

I don’t remember eating or paying; all I wanted was to get in the car immediately. He almost tripped out of the booth as we left, and as soon as we got into the car and I turned the key, “Two of Us” by the Beatles had just begun on the radio.

We held it in until we’d pulled back onto the highway and finally let loose screams and shouts of joy from the highest heights of our souls. Our laughter filled the car and echoed off the empty highway; it  worked .

“ _ You and I have memories,  _ _ Longer than the road that stretches out ahead...” _

Never in a million years did I think I’d end up in this spot, but here I was - a new person, with the love of my life, laughing with my whole body, happier than I’d ever been, barreling our way to a new start in California. No one chasing us, no one on the lookout for us - It was surreal.

“ _ Two of us wearing raincoats,  Standing so low,  In the sun...“ _

When I glanced over to find him looking at me with a hopeful smile, my heart swelled with joy. The only other person to ever see me, and accept me, and he was there beside me, ready to start a new life with me, looking at me like the sun rose and set with me. 

“_You and me chasing paper, _ _Getting nowhere, On our way back home...”_

I could almost smell the Pacific Ocean air...

“_We're on our way home, _ _ We're on our way home...  _ _ We're going home....” _

** Epilogue - “Wouldn’t it Be Nice” **

A sunny California morning dawns bright and blue. The breeze coming off the water drifts through gauzy curtains and sets off a wind chime in the window frame. “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” plays on a little radio on the sill as we enter the kitchen.

“ _ Wouldn't it be nice if we were older _

_ Then we wouldn't have to wait so long? _

_ And wouldn't it be nice to live together _

_ In the kind of world where we belong? _

_ You know it's gonna make it that much better _

_ When we can say goodnight and stay together...” _

She sits at the breakfast table, reading a paper while he stands at the window, folding clothes out of a laundry basket and sipping from a nearby coffee mug. Her blonde hair catches in the breeze and she looks up, finds him there with a smile on her face.

“ _ Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up _

_ In the morning when the day is new? _

_ And after having spent the day together _

_ Hold each other close the whole night through? _

_ Happy times together we've been spending _

_ I wish that every kiss was never ending _

_ Oh, wouldn't it be nice?” _

He sings along to the music to her as he works, then waltzes his way across the room to take her hand and dance her around the living room to the music.

“ _ Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true? _

_ Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do...” _

She laughs and brushes his hair from his forehead, runs her finger over the scar on his upper lip, tracing his smile. As he sings, he holds her closer so that he’s pressed against her, lips at her ear.

“ _ We could be married, and then we'd be happy... Oh, wouldn't it be nice?” _

He ends the song with a big finish, spinning her around the living room of their little bungalow, bringing giggles from her throat as he does. Her eyes never leave his; she’s lost in his gaze and he never wants to let her go. This is their life now, and it’s perfect.

“ _ Good night, oh baby, Sleep tight, oh baby _

_ Good night, oh baby, Sleep tight, oh baby...” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along on this ride with Jessica and Arthur - please leave a comment with your thoughts, I love hearing your feedback!


End file.
